


Twin Flames

by Sosh_022



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, F/F, Friendship, Hermione Granger-centric, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Slow Burn, Smart Hermione Granger, Strong Female Characters, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2020-09-26 22:03:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20396866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sosh_022/pseuds/Sosh_022
Summary: Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her year, was finally hoping to have a normal and peaceful year at Hogwarts during their fourth year - one where they did not have to worry about dark prophecies and dangerous creatures because of Harry. Unfortunately for her, she did not foresee Harry being chosen as one of the champions in the most dangerous wizarding tournament in history. She also did not foresee her own name being chosen as well.Forced to compete, Hermione shows everyone just how she earned her epithet as she pushes her wits to limits never seen before. Her involvement in the competition however, catches the eye of another strong, smart girl who has a lot to prove as well. Despite their similarities, they clash and butt heads until that vexation suddenly turns into something else.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I just discovered the fleurmione ship recently and omg I am HOOKED. I've read nearly all the stories on AO3 and fanfiction.net in a week (the ones in English that is) and have been inspired to write my own story. If you have any you want to recommend, I am all ears! 
> 
> This story is going to be very Hermione centric and I am going to take some liberties with her skills and wits because I feel like they go rather unappreciated in the later books. Also, I just love smart!Hermione.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy the story!
> 
> Disclaimer: This work was inspired by JK Rowling's series. I don't own any of the characters.

“What do you reckon they were going off about?” Ron asked grumpily as they entered their train compartment. “That was weird, even for my mum,” he mumbled, referring to Mrs. Weasley’s and Charlie’s vague statements and excitement about this year. He was clearly not pleased at being kept in the dark. 

“You’re guess is as good as mine, mate,” Harry replied lightly as they stowed away their trunks and took a seat. 

“What do you think Charlie meant when he said he’ll see us sooner than we think?” Ron continued, not wanting to let the topic die. “There’s obviously something going on at Hogwarts.”

“Obviously,” Hermione remarked with a smirk before reaching into her bag. Ron shot her an indignant look. 

“Well you don’t need to be so-” Whatever retort Ron had on his lips quickly died away as he spotted the giant book the girl just pulled out of her bag. Ignoring the jaw dropped redhead, Hermione simply opened the book and began scanning its contents. Ron fought to reign in his incredulous expression. 

“Are you seriously studying already? We aren’t even at school yet!” he exclaimed, sounding almost offended as if studying in front of him was a personal insult to his character. Hermione shot Ron a dark look, before looking back down at the book. 

“It’s not homework,” Hermione clarified with a defeated sigh. “I just have a feeling that with everything that’s already happened,” - she alluded to the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup - “that we won’t be getting the peaceful year I wanted after all. Better to be as prepared as possible if something _ does _ happen,” she explained, flickering her eyes to Harry briefly in emphasis. 

Over the summer, and especially after the appearance of the Dark Mark, Hermione had not taken a break from her studies. Instead, she’d doubled down on her reading and had even asked Madam Pince if she could borrow a few books from the library for research over the summer - the cross librarian was clearly displeased but there wasn’t much she could do against a signed permission slip from McGonagall. 

She sincerely hoped for an uneventful year at Hogwarts. Bless her friends, but knowing them, she just knew that wouldn’t be the case. Instead of fighting the inevitable, she instead resorted to preparing herself the only way she knew how. 

Harry could only smile and shrug his shoulders. It wasn’t _ his _fault people were always after him. But he was glad that he could always count on his friends to have his back. Without them, he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to face what he had to in his first three years at Hogwarts. 

Glancing out the window, he watched as the green scenery whizzed by. Deep inside, he also hoped for a peaceful year, however he knew in his gut that trouble would find him no matter what. The fact that his scar had been throbbing more and more did not help things either. Their prospects of an uneventful year seemed grim. 

* * *

Arriving at Hogwarts, the three Gryffindors bustled into the Great Hall in a hurry, not wanting to be caught in another one of Peeve’s pranks on the first years as tradition permitted, or worse, Professor McGonagall’s fury. 

“I hope they go through the sorting quickly,” Ron mumbled under his breath as they hurried to their seats at the Gryffindor table. “I’m starving.”

Hermione found herself quirking her lips in a dry grin at the characteristic complaint. “You’re always starving,” she couldn’t help but retort humorously. “All you ever think about is food.”

“So?” Ron shot her an indignant look. “A man’s gotta eat, right Harry?”

Harry, as usual, remained silent. He was smart enough not to choose sides whenever these two bickered over trivial matters. Instead, he glanced up at the staff table. Hermione, noticing his silence, followed his gaze up to the table of Professors, where she noticed one seat was conspicuously empty. 

“Where’s the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor?” she wondered out loud. Everyone else was present. 

“Reckon they’ll announce it later,” Harry shrugged. 

“I’m so hungry I can eat a basilisk,” Ron moaned, flopping himself lifelessly onto the table top. 

Fortunately for him and the other hungry students, the Sorting ceremony went by smoothly, as did the welcoming feast. However, while Ron was gratefully shoving the food down his mouth, Hermione was busy voicing her complaints about the usage of kitchen elves when Nearly Headless Nick revealed how the food came about.  


“It’s _ slave _labor!” she protested hotly, refusing to put another bite of food in her mouth. She pushed her plate and fork as far away from her as possible and crossed her arms. 

“They’re happy to do it,” Ron argued, his mouth full of pudding causing a small portion to dribble down his chin. “They _ want _to do it.”

Hermione huffed as righteously indignant as she could. “That’s only because they’ve been suppressed for centuries! They don’t know what they want!” 

Knowing better than to try to fight Hermione when she’s set her mind on something, Ron simply rolled his eyes and continued to happily dig into his Yorkshire pudding. 

As the feast neared the end, Dumbledore stood up to make his final announcements. After his usual warnings about the Forbidden Forest, his speech took an unexpected turn. 

“It pains me to say that this year, we will not be holding an inter-house Quidditch Cup,” he announced. 

“What?!” Harry nearly jumped out of his seat at the news, if it weren’t for Hermione’s hand on his arm, pulling him back down into his seat. He gasped and looked around at the others at the table for some sort of explanation. They all looked equally ask shocked.

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at the Headmaster, wondering what would be so important as to cancel Quidditch. Though she didn’t particularly enjoy the sport as much as her friends did, she understood that it was still a huge part of the Hogwarts experience. 

Before the murmurings of the Great Hall could escalate, Dumbledore continued his explanation. “This cancellation is due to an event that will be starting in October and taking place throughout most of the year. It is with great pleasure that I announce that Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year!”

The crowd erupted into whispers once again. 

Harry looked over to Hermione who had a frown on her face. “What is that?” he asked. 

“It’s a wizarding tournament,” said Hermione, her face darkening. “A very _ dangerous _wizarding tournament.” That was all she said before Dumbledore shushed the hall. 

“This tournament has not been held for over a century, however, we have decided to reinstate the tournament to promote relations amongst the wizarding community. In a few weeks time, students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving to Hogwarts for an opportunity to compete in such a prestigious competition. One student from each school will be chosen as the champion of his or her school and the ultimate winner will receive eternal glory as the Triwizard Champion as well as one thousand Galleons.”

“Sign me up!” Ron whispered excitedly, his face brightening up at the mention of the prize money. Down the table, his brothers reacted similarly, nudging each other with mischievous grins. 

Hermione however, only had a bad feeling about this tournament. 

“However due to previous deaths during the tournament-”

“_ Deaths?” _ Hermione hissed anxiously. She was right to be apprehensive after all! What kind of school allowed for events that would put their students’ lives at stake? (Though the safety of Hogwarts had been rather questionable of late - with you-know-who appearing in their first year, a basilisk petrifying students in their second year, and a supposed murderer running loose in the castle in their third year). 

“We have decided to instate a new law,” Dumbledore continued. “Only students who are of the age seventeen or older may enter their name for consideration.” 

There was another eruption of whispers, mostly outrage and protests at the new rule, Ron being among them along with his twin brothers. Only Hermione and a few others seemed to agree with the new rule. Dumbledore raised his voice slightly in order to talk over everyone. 

“I will be taking it upon myself to enforce this, therefore do not waste your time in trying to bypass this rule,” he warned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. His gaze seemed to be looking directly at the Weasley twins who were the loudest in their disapproval of the new rule. 

“We’re still going to do it, aren’t we?” Fred grinned impishly at George. 

“Of course,” George quipped back. 

Despite her disapproval of the tournament, Hermione couldn’t help but grin at the twin’s antics. Though she would never admit it out loud, she rather looked forward to whatever tricks they had up their sleeves. Dumbledore wouldn’t be fooled that easily though, that she knew for sure. 

Before she could get lost in her thoughts, the doors to the Great Hall slammed open. In limped a small old man, with wispy hair and a heavily scarred face. His cane thumped loudly against the floors as the students watched the man enter in silence. The feature that stood out most about the man of course was his eyes, specifically his one electric blue eye that whirled about ceaselessly, inspecting nearly every inch and corner of the Great Hall. 

It was unsettling. Hermione couldn’t help but stare as the eye darted about, her mind suddenly whirling with theories behind the magic of the eye. 

“Is that-” Ron’s question died on his lips as he stared at the man. 

“Mad-Eye Moody!” Hermione heard Fred gasp in recognition. 

“What is_ he _ doing here?” Harry asked, bewildered. He found the answer to his question soon enough. 

“Students,” Dumbledore’s deep voice broke through the silence. “May I introduce your new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Professor Moody!”

The trio looked at each other from across the table. Just how many surprises were they in for?

* * *

  


After the feast was over, the students all got up to head to their respective dorm rooms, eager to discuss all the revelations from the feast. 

Hermione was about to follow Ron and Harry up to the Gryffindor Tower when she heard her name being called in that familiar Scottish lilt. Whirling around, she came face to face with her head of house. 

“Professor,” Hermione greeted McGonagall, surprise coloring her voice. “Did you need me for something?”

The old witch ran her eyes down Hermione’s figure once in a scrutinizing manner before flickering her eyes back up. As sharp eyes met her own, Hermione wondered briefly if she’d somehow already gotten in trouble. But that wasn’t possible. Right?

“The Headmaster wants to see you in his office,” McGonagall informed the girl. “The password is Fizzy Pops.”

“Why does he want to see me?” Hermione asked. 

“I suggest you go and find out, Ms. Granger,” McGonagall answered curtly in her no-nonsense voice of hers. “Run along now.”

“Yes professor.” Hermione nodded her head, blushing and silently degrading herself for asking such a stupid question. She quickly headed towards the Headmaster’s office, telling Ron and Harry that she’ll catch up with them later. The entire way there, her mind raced with all the possibilities of what the Headmaster could ever want with her. 

Entering the office, Hermione saw Dumbledore patiently waiting for her with that signature kind smile and twinkle in his eyes. 

“Ah, Ms. Granger. Thank you for coming to meet me. My I offer you a lemon drop?” he asked. 

Hermione smiled and shook her head politely. “No thanks, Professor,” she replied before sitting down across the wizard. 

“What did you want to see me about, Professor?” she asked. The curiosity was killing her. Her apprehension must’ve been noticeable because Dumbledore was quick to reassure her. 

“Relax, Ms. Granger, you have done nothing wrong. The opposite in fact,” he grinned knowingly. 

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. Dumbledore always loved his riddles. It seemed she wouldn’t be getting a clear answer this time either. 

“I’ve heard that you’ve been diligently going through your studies over the summer,” Dumbledore began. 

Hermione blinked, before suddenly relaxing. So this discussion was on her studies. This, she could handle. 

“Yes, of course,” she answered matter of factly, earning a chuckle from the Headmaster. 

“And from what I know, you have been reading rather advanced books,” Dumbledore continued cryptically. That reminded Hermione. She needed to return those books back to Madam Pince tonight lest she anger the librarian and get banned from the library. She shuddered at the thought. 

“Er, I guess,” Hermione blushed, not used to praise. 

Dumbledore only beamed more gleefully. “Yes well, I brought you here today to talk to you about your academics,” he explained. At the widening of her eyes, Dumbledore hastily added. “As I said, there is nothing you need to be worried about. You are doing fine in all of your classes.”

Visibly deflating, Hermione wondered where this conversation was going. Did Dumbledore really call her up here just to tell her she was doing well in her classes? That didn’t seem likely. 

“It has come to my attention,” Dumbledore declared. “And the attention of several of your professors,” he added with a pointed look. “That the material they teach in their classes may no longer be challenging for you. So-” he cut in, seeing Hermione open her mouth about to protest. “I have devised a schedule that may be more fitting for your intellectual needs,” he revealed. 

Hermione could only gape at him at a loss for words. 

“You will continue taking the required classes of a fourth year student,” Dumbeldore explained, grinning at the expression on the girl’s face. “But in your free periods, you will be taking private lessons from either McGonagall, Flitwick, or Snape in advanced Transfigurations, Charms, and Potions topics.”

He slid a parchment toward the still shocked girl containing the edited schedule. 

“This is the best I could do,” Dumbledore told her, his eyes twinkling knowingly. “Since we are unfortunately all out of Time-Turners this year.”

Hermione forced her jaw shut. “Thank you, Professor. This is so amazing! I will definitely do my best-” Her words came out in a flurry as her eyes roamed the schedule greedily though she brought her gaze up immediately once she realized she was being rude. She was flustered at the gesture but immensely grateful. 

She couldn’t believe she would be taking classes directly from McGonagall and Flitwick, both masters in their own fields. And though she knew she was going to have a difficult time alone with Snape, she had to begrudgingly admit that the man was brilliant at potions though his personality left a lot to be desired. 

“Thank you so much,” Hermione couldn’t help but let the words escape her mouth. 

Chuckling, Dumbledore responded. “No need to thank me, Ms. Granger. It is a delight to foster such a bright student. You remind me much of a young Minerva.”

Flushing hotly at the praise, Hermione remained mum, not knowing what else to say. McGonagall had always been her role model ever since the witch had stepped into the muggle home of the Grangers and declared Hermione a witch. To be compared to her was like a dream come true. She would have to do her best to live up to the praise. 

“I look forward to seeing what you accomplish, Ms. Granger,” Dumbledore grinned, his eyes smiling along. “I’m sure Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley will need you to keep them in line, hm?” He hummed knowingly. “Now run along. We don’t want you to be caught roaming in the halls after curfew now, do we?”

Thanking the Headmaster once more, Hermione rushed to the Gryffindor tower, her heart light with excitement and schedule gripped tightly in her hand. She all of a sudden couldn’t wait for classes to start. 

Determined to do her best in her private lessons, Hermione promised to show what it really meant to be the brightest witch of her age. 

  
  



	2. The Wiggenweld Potion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Hermione's private lessons. 
> 
> Also, I quote the GOF in the middle of the chapter because I was too lazy to write that part on my own. So if you see a huge block of text in italics, that's what's happening. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_ "The girl...the girl is key." _

* * *

When classes finally started for the term, Hermione couldn’t have been happier. Even Professor Moody’s unconventional and borderline cruel first class of Defense Against the Dark Arts couldn’t damper her bright spirits. 

Hermione was currently in the library in her secluded little corner deep within the confines of the miles upon miles of bookshelves catching up on some reading regarding ancient runes. She had just a little bit of free time to kill before her first ever private lesson with McGonagall and she couldn’t help but feel excited. She wondered what the renowned witch would teach her on the first day. 

Unable to focus anymore, Hermione headed towards the Transfiguration tower, trying very hard not to skip all the way there. Once she arrived, she took a moment to recollect herself before knocking on the door and opening it. 

The Transfigurations classroom was completely empty save for her and McGonagall. Upon her entrance, the professor looked up from her desk where she sat revising her students’ homework. 

“Ah, Ms. Granger. Come in and take a seat.” McGonagall’s eyes flickered to the seat in the front and Hermione gracefully took the hint, sitting down in the indicated seat. 

She reached into her book bag, about to pull out some parchment, a quill, and some ink to take notes but Mcgongall halted her movements. 

“There’s no need for those,” McGonagall stated as she stood up and walked over to practically tower over the girl. 

Hermione hesitated, casting McGonagall a questioning look. Seeing the firm look on her professor’s face, she reluctantly slid her materials back into her bag and sat forward, paying the older witch her utmost attention. 

“Ms. Granger, before we begin, I must ask,” McGonagall began, her eyes appearing sharper by the second. Hermione felt herself grow apprehensive and wary at the older witch’s tone. “What would you say is your greatest weakness?”

Hermione blinked. She hadn’t expected such a question right from the start. Her mind fumbled for answers as her mouth fumbled for words. 

What _ was _her weakness? She had so many. Where should she even begin? 

Feeling like she’d gone on silent for long enough, Hermione forced herself to come up with something even though she had no confidence in her answer. 

“Uh, uh,” she stammered slightly, her mind whirling at a hundred thoughts per second. “I suppose I don’t play too well with others,” she flushed. She kept her eyes on the table in front of her as words continued to spill out of her mouth. 

“I know I can be a bit of a know-it-all,” Hermione admitted frowning. “And I can be a bit insufferable when it comes to answering questions in class. Ron has teased me for it many times. Harry too, but he’s a bit nicer about it. I don’t really have many other friends beside them but-”

“Ms. Granger,” McGonagall cut in sternly. 

Hermione’s eyes flew up to meet the exasperated expression on McGonagall's face. 

“I was not referring to that,” McGonagall said simply. “Forgive me if I wasn’t clear, but I meant to inquire you on your weakness regarding magic. Nothing else.”

Hermione’s cheeks reddened furiously in embarrassment and mortification. Of course. Mentally berating herself, Hermione took a second to consider this question. Feeling more at ease after the initial embarrassment ebbed away, Hermione found herself able to think with a clearer head. 

She pursed her lips in thought. The answer was quite obvious to her really. She’d identified it long ago. She wasn’t daft. 

Taking a breath, Hermione gathered up the courage to say it. 

“Practicality,” she admitted. “In magical theory, I’m unmatched in my year,” Hermione answered as a matter of factly without a hint of arrogance. It was simply the truth and neither she nor McGonagall or any other professor at Hogwarts could say otherwise. 

“However, knowing how a spell works and actually performing it are two different matters altogether,” Hermione stated, her eyes burning with a sudden determination and a hint of defiance. It became clear to McGonagall in this moment that Hermione had put quite a bit of thought into this prior to today. 

“Take Harry for example,” Hermoine elaborated. “I probably know ten times as many spells as he does, and can actually do about five times as many spells as he can, but his magic is stronger when it needs to be,” said Hermione. She seemed to be lost in thought as her eyes gave away the fact that her mind was busy analyzing every spell she or Harry had ever performed and comparing them. 

“That is good enough,” McGonagall cut in again, this time much gentler. Hermione snapped out of her thoughts and was glad to note the satisfaction in McGonagall’s tone. 

“Ten points to Gryffindor for being self aware,” McGonagall looked pointedly at Hermione, before quickly brandishing her wand. “Now, since we have come to an agreement about your weaknesses, how do you propose we tackle them?” 

“With practice, of course,” Hermione breathed. 

McGonagall nodded, raising an eyebrow at the girl. “Pull out your wand then. We don’t have all day.”

Hastily, Hermione pulled out her wand from her holster. 

“You have read numerous texts on advanced Transfigurations as well as other topics,” said McGonagall. “Now we will put your knowledge to use. I will use these lessons to hone your grasp on magic. It is everywhere, especially within you. Familiarize yourself with it and you will be able to do things unimaginable. Once we are done you will find yourself able to command magic in a way you never have been able to before. Are you ready?”

Hermione could only nod and gulp. 

* * *

It turned out that McGonagall’s way of familiarizing Hermione with magic was to ask her to perform feats of Transfigurations that weren’t taught until the sixth year or later. Sure, McGonagall hadn’t asked her anything that she hadn’t already _ read _ about, but being asked to just _ do it _ without any preparation or practice beforehand wasn’t that easy. 

However, Hermione was nothing if not a quick study. By the end of the hour, she’d managed to do just about everything McGonagall had asked of her. Hermione left the lesson completely drained but also completely satisfied. She hadn’t felt that challenged in a while, having forgotten what it was like to be pushed to perform difficult magic without the influence of a life threatening danger hanging over her head. 

She trudged to the Gryffindor Tower, hoping to take a quick nap before dinner. However, when she was woke dinner was already over. As her stomach growled in hunger, her thoughts flew to the kitchen elves. Reminded of the injustice imposed on those helpless creatures, Hermione frowned. Feeling invigorated and well rested, Hermione ignored her hunger and instead went to the library hoping to find some information on elves that would enlighten her or support her claim. 

She was only a few hundred pages deep into a book when she felt her eyelids grow heavy. She must’ve worn herself out more than she thought. Sighing in frustration, Hermione checked out the rest of the books she had on magical creatures and house elves and headed back to the tower. 

On her way to bed, she passed by Ginny who was preparing to go to sleep herself. The redhead gave her an inquisitive look as she passed by. 

“You missed dinner,” said Ginny, eyeing the stack of books in Hermione’s arms. “Lost track of time in the library?” she joked knowingly. 

“Something like that,” Hermione responded distractedly as she organized the books onto her nightstand with a swish of her wand. 

“Geez, not enough time to read now that you don’t have a Time Turner, huh?” Ginny snorted, flopping onto her bed. 

Hermione smiled briefly at that. “Not nearly enough,” she joked back. 

“Nerd,” Ginny snorted, face flat in bed. 

Hermione scoffed in response, rolling her eyes. Ginny sounded so much like her brothers sometimes. 

“Good night,” the redhead mumbled, voice heavy with sleep. 

“Good night,” Hermione returned courteously, quickly getting ready for bed. Despite her nap in the evening, she still fell asleep the instant her head hit the pillows. 

* * *

“How was your class with McGonagall?” Harry asked the next day at breakfast. 

“Oh yeah,” Ron butted in. “Can you turn into a cat now too?”

Hermione only rolled her eyes at the cluelessness of the redhead. “No, I cannot turn into a cat,” Hermione enunciated clearly. “McGonagall can do that because she is an animagus. It’s not just a spell, Ronald,” she said in her signature slightly condescending tone. “It takes months of patience to become an animagus. Not anyone can just decide to be one,” she stated pointedly. 

The boy could only shrug his shoulders in response before resuming in devouring his breakfast. 

“So how was it?” Harry asked again and Hermione was touched that he seemed genuinely curious. 

“It was quite challenging, but very engaging!” Hermione gushed. “McGonagall’s just brilliant! She made me transfigure a quill into just about anything imaginable before we moved onto conjuring and banishing magic. Some of the things she asked me to do seemed quite difficult at first but everytime I did something wrong, she would point out my mistakes with a very discerning eye. I haven’t felt this challenged and satisfied in a long time,” Hermione couldn’t hold back the grin on her face if she tried. 

Sensing his friend’s good mood, Harry found himself smiling along. “I’m glad for you, really,” Harry beamed. It sounded like these classes were just what Hermione needed to take full advantage of her potential. He knew that if there was anyone in their year who was capable of casting advanced magic and impressing McGonagall, it would be Hermione. 

“Who do you have your next lesson with?” Harry asked. 

The bright expression on Hermione’s face dimmed slightly. “Snape,” came the dry answer. 

“Ah,” Harry raised his eyebrows in understanding. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Hermione sighed. She needed it. 

* * *

When Hermione entered the Potions classroom she couldn’t help but feel that it was colder than usual. She noticed Snape waiting for her and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Maybe she was just overreacting, Maybe there was no need to worry. She could survive one hour along with Snape. After all, what could possibly happen?

“You’re late,” came Snape’s signature dry monotone voice. “Ten points from Gryffindor.”

Hermione clenched her jaw from contradicting him. She knew for a fact she was not late, perhaps a few minutes early even, but antagonizing Snape would not do her any favors. Therefore, she took her seat without another word. 

“You will brew the Wit-Sharpening Potion,” Snape instructed. Hermione recognized the potion as one of the required potions for sixth years. She’d finished reading all the required books for Hogwarts’ curriculum in her third year when she still had her Time-Turner, so she’d definitely seen the potion before. Her mind quickly went through the ingredients and steps she would need. 

She nodded and quickly pulled out a piece of parchment and began scribbling on it. Snape raised a judging eyebrow at the action. 

“What...are you doing?” he asked sounding exasperated. 

Hermione paused in her writing. “Uh, writing down the formula, sir,” she answered. “So i can refer back to it later on.”

  
To her surprise, Snape sneered at her response. 

“You don’t need the formula. It is simple enough of a potion to brew from memory, or did I expect too much from the brightest witch of her age?” sniped Snape. 

Hermione felt a rush of indignance and anger. She stared defiantly at the potions master. 

“No sir,” she forced out through clenched teeth. 

“Then hurry along, Granger,” Snape sneered. “I do not have all day.”

Cheeks slightly flushed from anger, Hermione quickly gathered her supplies and set them down on her work table. Feeling Snape’s heavy stare on her head, Hermione began to brew the Wit-Sharpening potion from memory.

As she mixed in the Armadillo Bile into her concoction, she felt Snape’s stare grow heavier. Looking up, she glanced questioningly at the professor. 

“What are you doing?” Snape asked with a dry sigh. 

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Adding in Armadillo Bile until the mixture turns blue, just as the formula calls for,” she replied. Did she remember the formula incorrectly? Was she wrong? No. Hermione knew she wasn’t wrong. This _ was _what the textbook had said. So why was Snape seemingly disappointed in her when all she was doing was following the book perfectly?

“Do you really know what you’re doing, though?” Snape retorted. He then waved his wand and vanished the contents of her cauldron. Hermione had never felt so insulted. She gaped at the wizard.

“I change my mind,” said Snape, his eyes boring into hers. “It seems I have overestimated you. You will brew the Wiggenweld potion instead.”

“B-but,” Hermione protested hotly before she could control herself. “That’s a first year potion!”

“And?” Snape asked, daring her to speak out of line. 

Hermione sputtered for a few seconds before successfully controlling her emotions. “Yes, sir.”

Reigning in her dissatisfaction, Hermione set off to gather the ingredients she would need, all while cursing Snape in her mind. 

_ ‘I will show him to underestimate me. I’m going to brew the bloody best Wiggenweld potion he has ever seen! He’ll have to acknowledge me then,’ _ Hermione fumed. _ ‘What is his problem? Asking me to brew a Wit-Sharpening potion and then changing his mind even though I was doing everything correctly!’ _

However before she could begin making her Wiggenweld potion, Snape interjected. 

“And do not follow the recipe in the textbook,” he instructed. 

Hermione stared at the brooding man in confusion. “What? Then how should I do it?” She honestly couldn’t tell if Snape was messing with her or not. 

“You’re supposedly smart, you figure it out,” Snape rolled his eyes before turning away and taking a seat at his desk. “You have thirty minutes.”

Hermione cursed him once more as she stared frantically at the ingredients she had. How was she supposed to brew the potion _ without _ following the recipe? Her mind, for the first time in a long time, was at a loss. 

* * *

It was needless to say that her private lesson with Snape went horribly. 

  
She failed to make the Wiggenweld potion and was sent away with a heavily disappointed look from Snape. Kicking herself mentally, Hermione walked past the Great Hall where dinner was currently being served and headed straight for the library. It seemed she’d have to go hungry tonight as well. 

Practically stomping into the library, fueled from her anger towards Snape, Hermione headed towards the Potions sections, making sure to slow her pace in front of Madam Pince before picking it back up again. Her eyes rapidly scanned the numerous amounts of titles offered. Finding a few that piqued her interest, Hermione flicked her wand, magically piling them up before heading towards her favorite spot in the library. 

Tucking herself away in her secluded little corner, Hermione immersed herself into the writings of ‘_ Alternatives to Potion Making: Unconventional Methodologies Behind Common Potions.’ _ Emerging from the spot three hours later, Hermione felt a lot more informed but still just as frustrated at the task Snape had given her. 

Sulkingly, she made her way back to the Gryffindor tower, her mind still whirling with various theories of potion making and the effects of each ingredient. 

“You missed dinner again,” Ginny commented with an eyebrow raise as Hermione sluggishly walked past her. “Harry and Ron were asking where you were. They’re worried,” she added when Hermione didn’t answer. 

“Sorry,” Hermione winced. She didn’t mean to worry her friends. She tended to forget about everything else when she set her mind to something. “There was something I needed to find out in the library.” The excuse was weak and she knew it but she was too tired to elaborate. 

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Of course there was.” She cast a worried glance at the brunette. “Just take care of yourself, yeah? Those books aren’t going anywhere.”

Hermione forced a grin. “Yeah,” she agreed rather weakly. “Good night, Gin,” she said instead, eager to avoid the topic. 

Rolling her eyes once more at the stubborn girl, Ginny dived into bed. She’d tried her best. 

Sighing, Hermione decided she too should get some rest. Tomorrow, she’d continue with her search for answers. 

* * *

She’d missed breakfast.

Her mind was so tormented by the problem that Snape had presented her, it had stayed up all night trying to come up with a solution. 

_ ‘Maybe if I substituted Wiggenweld bark with something else? Or what if I added another something other asphodel?’ _

Hundreds of possibilities ran through her mind, which was what lead to her current problem. 

She’d missed breakfast and dinner last night, so she was absolutely _ ravenous. _ To add things on top of that, she was _ also _ late to Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

Deciding that she didn’t want to figure out what Moody would do to her if she were late, Hermione decided to book it, ignoring the stares from the other students. Let her be stared at as long as Moody didn’t have an excuse to use an Unforgivable on her. 

She managed to make it to class with just a few seconds to spare. Plopping down next to Ron and Harry, they both startled in surprise. 

“Where ‘ave you been?” Ron asked with wide eyes. “When we didn’t see you at dinner _ or _at breakfast, we thought Snape had finally got you!” he whispered. 

“I was busy in the library,” Hermione grumbled, not wanting to get into the specifics of it. 

Harry leaned in. “Are you alright?” he asked worriedly. 

Hermione brushed off his concern. “I’m fine, really. I just have been busy, that’s all.”

“Did Snape give you any trouble?” Harry inquired, clearly not believing her. 

“No, of course not,” Hermione lied. 

“Alright then,” Harry eyed her suspiciously but dropped it, much to Hermione’s relief. Instead, the trio turned their attention to Professor Moody, wondering with slight apprehension what lesson they would be learning today. 

_‘To their surprise, Professor Moody announced that he would be putting the Imperius Curse on each of them in turn, to demonstrate its power and to see whether they could resist its effects. _

_“But — but you said it’s illegal, Professor,” said Hermione uncertainly as Moody cleared away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a large clear space in the middle of the room. “You said — to use it against another human was —” _

_“Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like,” said Moody, his magical eye swiveling onto Hermione and fixing her with an eerie, unblinking stare. “If you’d rather learn the hard way — when someone’s putting it on you so they can control you completely — fine by me. You’re excused. Off you go.” He pointed one gnarled finger toward the door. _

_Hermione went very pink and muttered something about not meaning that she wanted to leave. Harry and Ron grinned at each other. They knew Hermione would rather eat bubotuber pus than miss such an important lesson.’_

  * __J.K. Rowling Goblet of Fire __

Hermione watched with a silent tongue as her classmates were called up one by one and performed the ridiculous acts under Moody’s influence. No one had been able to fight the curse. When it was finally Harry’s turn, Hermione found herself holding her breath. 

When Harry face planted the desk in an effort to fight against the curse, she found herself wincing in empathy before awe filled her. Harry always seemed to do the impossible. The words she told McGonagall from two days ago echoed in her memory. Harry _ was _always better at magic in practice, but she had been practicing too. Feeling a sense of determination rush through her, Hermione didn’t even flinch when her name was called. 

She walked into the middle of the class and stared at Moody defiantly. _ ‘Do your worst,’ _her eyes seemed to say. With a smirk, Moody raised his wand at her. 

“_I__mperio.” _

A light, floating sensation suddenly overtook her entire body. Hermione felt entirely calm. Gone was her tiredness and hunger, replaced by a sense of tranquility and peace. She forgot her frustrations from yesterday and the embarrassment from earlier in class. 

_ “Lick your shoe,” _ said Moody’s voice in her mind. 

_ ‘Why though?’ _Hermione wondered logically. 

“_Lick your shoe,” _the voice persisted. 

_ ‘No,’ _ Hermione found herself huffing at the idea. She would _ not _do that, thank you very much. 

“_Lick your shoe!” _

_ ‘No!’ _ Hermione screamed mentally. _ ‘Do you know how many germs there are on the bottom of a shoe? On average, there are at least 421,000 bacteria on the outside of shoes, with nine different strains of bacteria! Not to mention the toxins.” _

_ “Lick your shoe!” _the voice commanded, now sounding angry. 

_ ‘I will not!’ _ Hermione decided indignantly. _ ‘I’m not nearly daft enough to do something so stupid!’ _

_ “Lick your shoe! NOW!” _

Instead, Hermione found herself kneeling as her left knee exploded in pain. Blinking her eyes, Hermione realized she’d somehow managed to loosen her wand from her holster and had cast a stinging hex onto her own leg in an attempt to shock herself from out of the control of the curse through pain. 

“Now that’s more like it!” Moody growled approvingly. He eyed Hermione with arrogant smirk. “Though it would be more effective to directly hex the castor next time. It looks like only Potter and Granger have some guts! The rest of you - weak! Potter fought through the curse with sheer willpower. And Ms. Granger here,” Moody’s blue eye flickered over Hermione’s disheveled figure nonstop, constantly scanning her. “It seems this one has a strong mind,” he grunted in rare approval before facing the rest of the class. “You lot have a lot to learn. Potter, Granger, again!”

Hermione and Harry could only shoot sympathizing looks at each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Beauxbatons and Durmstrangs will appear in the next chapter!


	3. A Flaming Entrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione struggles with the Wiggenweld potion a bit more. The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students finally arrive, however not all arrivals are as smooth as others. Hermione meets Fleur for the first time. It's not the best.

_ ‘The girl may be valuable. But first, she must past the test.’ _

_ ‘I will see to it, master.’ _

* * *

Mind numb from being forced to fight off the Imperius curse a total of seven times, Hermione limped out of Defense Against the Dark Arts and made her way to her first private lesson with Flitwick.

When she entered the empty Charms classroom, the Charms professor was sitting atop his table, swinging his legs back and forth in the air looking rather like a child, though Hermione knew better than to let his easy going, short stature fool her. She’d witnessed firsthand how Flitwick earned his master duelist title. 

When Flitwick registered her presence, he beckoned her in welcomingly.

“Ah! Ms. Granger! Come, come in,” Flitwick waved her inside enthusiastically. “How are you doing, my child?”

Despite feeling drained from her previous class, Hermione was determined to give it her all during this private lesson just as she had done previously with McGonagall and Snape (no matter how much he’d probably disagree with her, she _ had _tried her best).

“I’m good, Professor,” Hermione grinned, fighting away the weariness in her bones as she sat down.

Professor Flitwick hummed, probably picking up on her less than stellar mood. “Well, I talked to Minerva the other day and to my understanding, she has been pushing your magic by challenging you with more and more complex spells. Am I correct?”

Hermione nodded. McGonagall told her that once they’d gone through the rest of the basic transfigurations taught in school, they were to move on to the more abstract aspects of magic.

“Very well,” Flitwick clasped his hands together. “I will be pushing your magic in a slightly different way then,” he revealed. “Instead of focusing on more difficult spells, we will be starting over, from the beginning.”

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t completely understand, Professor.”

“Non-verbal magic,” Flitwick revealed with an excited grin.

Hermione’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Isn’t that incredibly difficult magic though? They barely teach it in the seventh year – at least that’s what I read from _ Hogwarts: A History _. Doesn’t it require a huge amount of concentration and willpower? And even then, some people don’t ever really grasp it even when they’re older-“

“And I believe you have what it takes, Ms. Granger,” Flitwick interrupted lightly, smiling kindly. Hermione flushed under the praise but felt her stubborn side rear up. If her professors believed she could do it, then she would master non-verbal magic no matter what it took.

Hermione took a breath, already knowing that her magical stamina was going to be tested in the upcoming hour. “I’m ready, Professor,” she swallowed, trying not to sound too eager.

Flitwick chuckled before standing up on the desk. “It’s back to the basics then,” he declared, snapping his fingers and wordlessly summoning a feather in front of Hermione.

Hermione grinned at the feather as her mind recalled her first ever Charms lesson only three years ago.

_ ‘It’s Wingardium Levi-O-sa!. Not Levio-SA!’ _

“Now concentrate,” Flitwick reminded her gently. “As I mentioned similarly in your first class, there are three things that make up a spell: incantation, wand-movement, and intention. In non-verbal spells, incantations are no longer said out loud, making your wand-movement and intention much more important. Once you get to wandless magic, intention is everything. Therefore, your mind must be incredibly focused.”

Taking a deep breath, Hermione drew her wand and stared at the feather in dogged determination. This feather was flying whether it wanted to or not.

* * *

Much to Flitwick’s delight and Hermione’s surprise, she’d managed to successfully cast the levitation spell on the feather at least thrice by the end of the lesson. Though her progress was a lot slower than if she were to use a wand, she was satisfied with how she was improving, having never really considered non-verbal magic as something she could do at her present age. She’d always pushed it off as something she’d pick up in her later years.

She was glad to have been proven wrong.

However, with how well her lessons with Flitwick and McGonagall were progressing, she was back to her dilemma on the Wiggenweld Potion.

Determined to find a solution, Hermione headed towards the library only to stop after a few steps and pivoted in the opposite direction. She probably shouldn’t skip any more meals, lest she worried her friends. Besides – Hermione winced as she touched her stomach – the small uncomfortable gnawing pain in her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours. It would be wise not to skip another meal.

Walking into the Great Hall, she noted happily that Ron and Harry were already there indulging in lunch and quickly made her way over. 

“’Ermione!” the boys exclaimed as soon as they saw her. They sounded so surprised to see her that Hermione felt a rush of guilt for neglecting them lately.

“Hey,” she greeted before plopping down next to Harry and across from Ron. She then noticed look on Harry’s face. “What’s wrong?” she asked, immediately sensing something was wrong.

“It’s nothing,” Harry shrugged, deliberately avoiding her eyes. Hermione narrowed her eyes in suspicion. She’d been friends with Harry long enough to know when he was dodging the subject. She examined his face for a moment before coming to a conclusion. 

“It’s your scar, isn’t it?” she deduced shrewdly. At Harry’s not so subtle wince, she knew she hit the mark. “it’s hurting again?”

Harry grimaced, rubbing his scar. “Kind of?” he shrugged. “It’s just –“ he struggled. “I’ve been having these dreams,” he finally revealed.

Hermione frowned. She shot Ron a look who only shrugged helplessly before looking back at Harry.

“What about?” she asked warily. Harry’s dreams were never really a sign of good fortune. 

“I’m not sure,” Harry shook his head in distress. “It varies, really. Sometimes, I’m alone in this dark corridor, just staring at a door. Other times, I hear voices. It’s all a bit of a mess, really.”

Hermione’s frown deepened as she pondered the meaning of his dreams. She entertained the idea, if only briefly, if she’d have a better explanation if she’d stuck with Divinations her third year but dismissed the idea just as quickly. Trelawny would not have taught her anything worthwhile.

“These voices,” Ron interjected gingerly, eyeing his best mate in concern. “What are they saying?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not sure exactly, but they’ve gotten a lot more frequent since the Quidditch Cup.”

At his words, the trio glanced at each other worriedly. Whatever the implications of that coincidence were, they were not likely to be good, but they quickly agreed that here and now was not the time to discuss it. 

There was a pause as Harry seemed to recall something important. “There’s a girl,” he forced out. Another pause. “They keep referring to a girl. I don’t know what they want with her, but she’s important. I don’t know _ why _ though. But she’s usually the topic of conversation between them.”

Hermione frowned even more. “Who’s they, Harry?”

Harry shot her a desperate look. “I don’t _ know,” _he emphasized, jaw clenching with frustration. These were all questions he’d already asked himself. He felt like he was being tortured - he could see all these things happening but at the same time had no idea what they meant. He hated feeling this helpless. 

Hermione cast him a sympathetic look. She could only imagine how much stress he was under every night. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, Hermione could tell that these dreams were taking a toll on him.

Reaching out to squeeze his arm gently, Hermione gave him what she hoped was a reassuring look.

“We’ll figure it out together, like we always do,” said Hermione softly, eyebrows drawn together in sympathy. Ron nodded in agreement from across the table. Harry looked at the both of them gratefully.

“Thanks,” he muttered, feeling slightly more relieved than he did moments ago.

“By the way,” said Ron, looking eager to change the subject to something less depressing. “Did you all hear about the announcement?”

“About the Triwizard Tournament, you mean?” Harry inquired distractedly as he picked at his chicken. “I saw the notice.”

“What notice?” Hermione asked. She hadn’t got a clue what the boys were talking about. A rare occurrence, but she_ had _ been rather busy lately.

“The students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang are arriving next week,” Ron supplied, excited at the prospect of foreign students. “I wonder what they’re like,” he said, his voice taking on a dream-like quality for a moment before returning to normal. “Who do you think will represent Hogwarts?”

Harry shrugged, not really interested by the tournament. “Beats me,” he hummed. He was just grateful for once that the attention wouldn’t be on him during the year. He already had enough to worry about without everyone gawking at him.

“It’s a stupid tournament,” Hermione chimed in crossly. “I can’t believe Dumbledore has agreed to do something like this, bringing back such a dangerous tournament. There was a reason they discontinued it in the first place!”

Ron looked at his two best mates. “Well, aren’t you two just brimming with excitement,” he snorted. He stabbed at his eggs with his fork, before mumbling under his breath. “I would’ve liked to compete. Just imagine all that money. And the eternal glory.”

* * *

A week later, an hour before the other schools were scheduled to arrive, Hermione was stuck in the dungeons with Professor Snape, sweating her face off in front of vibrantly pink potion. 

Her hair stuck out in crazy angles, unhappy with the humid environment it was subjected to during the process. She’d long ago shed her robes. The sleeves of her white blouse were rolled up and stuck to her arms. There was even a bit of dried salamander blood splattered on her cheeks and shirt to complete her overall disheveled look. 

Still, Hermione paid all of it no mind, her mind too preoccupied with brewing the perfect Wiggenweld potion. Within the past hour, she’d already made two attempts, each one causing Snape to deepen his ever permanent scowl. 

“It certainly doesn’t look correct,” Snape commented disdainfully as he stared at the mixture with a look that could only be described as disgust. 

Hermione ignored him, now used to his ridiculing taunts. She was too focused on the task at hand to pay him much mind anyways. 

_ ‘The original recipe called for Wiggenweld bark and Flobberworm mucus as the main ingredients. However, I got rid of both of the bark and instead resorted to salamander blood and lionfish spines.’ _

The original also called for a number of other ingredients - most of which Hermione got rid of, thus simplifying the potion by a lot. 

The only problem was that, while both of these new ingredients created a far more potent Wiggenweld potion, they were also highly volatile and tricky to work with. Hermione was having trouble with just adding the Salamander blood. Suddenly, remembering something she once saw about the properties of Salamander blood in a paper she read for leisure, Hermione was struck with an idea. 

Pulling out her wand, she quickly vanished the contents in her cauldron, not even realizing she’d done so without uttering a word. The action however, did not go unnoticed by Snape who raised a single eyebrow at the display of what should’ve been extremely difficult magic. 

Hermione began recollecting her ingredients, ignoring Snape’s derisive look for wasting so much of his store. 

_ ‘I can’t add the Salamander blood all at once! I have to add it in little by little and let it settle,” _ Hermione realized, feeling slightly giddy with excitement from the breakthrough. ‘ _ Otherwise the reaction happens too fast and I can’t control it.’ _

With only twenty minutes until the end of the lesson, Hermione started adding the blood into her cauldron in parts. The potion turned red, then orange, then yellow and continued going down all the colors of the rainbow. Satisfied that the Salamander blood seemed to mixing well, Hermione added the spines and then the mucus. 

_ ‘This has to work,’ _Hermione decided, wiping away the sweat from her eyes with the back of her palm. 

With only five minutes to spare, Hermione watched with anxious eyes as the mixture changed color one last time before turning into a deep turquoise color. 

She sighed. 

It worked. 

Relaxing for the first time in an hour and a half, Hermione slumped into her chair, slowly enjoying the warm joy that seeped into her mind from finally completing the task. Her arms ached from how much she stirring she had to do but it had been worth it. 

Taking a deep breath, Hermione looked up for the final judgement. Snape peered curiously at her final product with a small frown. 

“It’s passable.”

Hermione wanted to huff at the cold verdict. She knew she shouldn’t have expected much - this _ was _Snape after all - but she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed at the lack of a compliment. 

“Next time, don’t forget to stir thoroughly after adding Flobberworm mucus. Also, try crushing the spines first as opposed to just throwing them in like a barbarian,” Snape stated in his signature dry monotone voice. He waved his wand over the mess, cleaning most of it in a single flick. 

“Still, you did better than I thought you would. Perhaps you aren’t such a lost cause after all,” Snape admitted begrudgingly and Hermione almost dropped her jaw in disbelief. Did he just compliment her?

Frowning at her gaping form, Snape flared his nose in annoyance. “Don’t you have somewhere else you need to be?”

Hermione recognized a dismissal when given one. Clearing away her workspace and quickly grabbing her bag, she glanced at the clock and realized with a start that she was late for the gathering out in the front of the school. 

“Thank you sir!” Hermione called out over her shoulder as she rushed out, excitement filling her heart. She still couldn’t believe she’d finally figured it out! Merlins, was potions always this much fun? She certainly appreciated the craft a lot more now. 

Hermione headed towards the lawn where everyone else was already waiting. She spotted Ron’s redhead amidst the crowd and made her way over, nearly barreling him over. 

“Ay! Watch it!” Ron protested before realizing it was just Hermione. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?’ he questioned, staring at her unkempt appearance. 

“I was brewing a potion for Snape,” Hermione revealed rather breathlessly, winded from running all the way here from the dungeons. 

“Ahh,” Ron hummed in understanding. “No wonder you look like you just fought a troll.”

Hermione shot him a quick smirk at the reference to their first year. Fighting a troll definitely would've been easier what she just did for Snape, especially now considering the fact that she could do the levitation spell _nonverbally._

“You’re just in time,” said Harry. “None of the schools are here yet.”

“Perfect.” Hermione pulled out her wand and quickly cleaned herself off. There wasn’t much she could do about her hair though so she just swept it out of her face. 

“Look! They’re here!” someone suddenly shouted. 

“The lake!” another chimed in. “Something’s happening from the lake!” 

Hundreds of heads turned to look in the direction of the Great Lake. The water's surface bubbled slightly before suddenly erupting as a giant ship emerged from the depths. It docked and a bridge was disengaged. 

As students emerged from the large ship, the Hogwarts students couldn’t help but chatter eagerly with each other. 

The first thing Hermione noticed about their foreign visitors was their clothes. They all wore heavy fur coats, grey and militaristic. The second thing Hermione noticed was the look on their faces. Their expressions were as rigid as their postures, with each one looking possibly more serious than the next. The third thing, well the third thing Hermione noticed, everyone else also noticed. 

“Is _ that _Viktor Krum?” Ron exclaimed disbelievingly as the chatter around them heightened. Harry winced as the redhead grabbed onto his arm, probably seeking an anchor to reality after seeing his idol appear right in front of his eyes. Hermione didn’t need to look at Ron to know he was donning his signature jaw dropped, wide eyed, impression of a fish. 

She winced as someone pushed into her from the back. It seemed like everyone was trying to catch a glimpse of the famed Bulgarian Seeker.

“I don’t bloody believe it!” Ron voiced out, still completely stunned at seeing his idol so close. “Harry, it’s Krum! Harry!” He shook his friend in bewilderment. 

“I _ see _ that,” Harry stuttered, trying to escape from Ron’s grasp. 

“Do you think he’ll sign my arm if I ask him to?” Ron suggested almost goofy with joy. 

“My goodness, Ron,” said Hermione, her voice taking on a disapproving tone at her friend’s antics as she was jostled about by some more giddy students. “He’s just a Quidditch player.”

“_ JUST _ a Quidditch player?” Ron screeched in outrage. “Hermione, do you even _ hear y _ourself.”

Hermione merely rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, deciding not to grace him with an answer. The trio watched as the Durmstrang students disappeared into the castle. They then turned back to wait for the Beauxbatons to arrive. However, after another ten minutes of waiting, the Hogwarts students started to get restless. 

“Where do you think they are?” Ron wondered out loud, squinting into the empty space in front of Hogwarts. “They’re a bit late, no? I’m starving already. Plus Krum’s already inside!”

Hermione ignored the redhead’s complaints and turned around to look at the professors standing in the back to see if they had any clue of when the French students would be arriving. However, judging from the rare small frown etched into Dumbledore’s face, she deduced that even the professors were in the dark as they were on the whereabouts of the Beauxbaton students. 

Suddenly Dumbledore looked up and squinted into the sun. “Ah, I believe that is the Beauxbatons delegation approaching.”

The students all followed his example and craned their necks upwards, searching for any signs of the Beauxbatons. 

“There!” Sean shouted, pointing at somewhere off to the east. 

Hermione squinted against the setting sunlight and could make out just a dot in the distance, though the dot was getting bigger and bigger by the second. 

“Are those...flying horses?” a Hufflepuff underclassman exclaimed in wonder. 

The incoming mass did indeed look like a line of giant winged horses tugging along a large carriage behind it. Several of the students gaped in awe as they watched the rare creatures approach. However, Hermione noticed immediately that something wasn’t quite right. The movements of winged-horses didn’t seem natural. They seemed rather agitated. Also, was that smoke?

“Something’s not right,” Hermione warned Harry and Ron under her breath. They watched with discerning eyes as the carriage got closer. 

“Something is definitely not right,” Harry agreed, feeling the urge to jump into action. Hermione’s eyes widened as the carriage seemed to spiral out of control. 

“They’re not flying, they’re falling!” she realized with a start. 

“CLEAR THE LAWN!” Dumbledore’s voice rang out through the crowd. The students immediately dispersed, not eager to be flattened into a pancake by a herd of large magical horses. 

“INCOMING!” Dumbledore’s voice rang out once more. Several professors jumped into action, trying to slow down the carriage’s descent.

Hermione felt her instincts jump into play as well, having saved Harry from one too many similar Quidditch accidents, and pointed her wand at the carriage. 

_"Arresto Momento!" _

However even with all the combined support, the carriage still crashed a few feet away from the Forbidden Forest before sliding several feet towards the castle. The winged horses stumbled to a clumsy stop, neighing agitatedly from their rough journey. 

“The carriage is on fire!” Ron noticed urgently. 

“We have to help!” Harry insisted, always the hero. “Come on!” He pulled out his wand and rushed in, not even wasting a second to hesitate. Hermione and Ron were right behind him, wands drawn. 

“Free the Abraxans!” Hermione heard someone scream as they pushed their way towards the carnage and Hermione reacted promptly. 

_"Relashio!" _Instantly the binds connecting the winged horses to the carriage were severed. The horses neighed at their freedom and trotted away from the carnage. 

Beauxbaton students tumbled out of the burning carriage, looking relatively unscathed despite the extremely dangerous landing. 

Hermione stopped and joined the professors who were on fire duty and pointed her wand at the carriage. 

“_Aguamenti!” _A jet of water burst out of her wand, dousing the carriage. Ron and Harry rushed forward, heading into the wreckage to hell rescue the students. 

Once the fire had been taken care of, Hermione ran to join them. 

She ducked inside the carriage, searching through the wreckage for anyone that might’ve still been stuck inside. Using magic, she moved huge obstacles out of the way hoping to clear a pathway. Coughing, she did her best to clear away the smoke and dust as she ventured deeper and deeper. Suddenly, she felt rough hands grab onto her arms and drag her away. 

“Zis is not the time of children’s play!” the voice, clearly female, scolded her. 

“Wha-” Hermione was completely caught off guard at being manhandled and mistaken for a child no less. 

Indignant, Hermione whipped her head around to glare at her offender and was met with a faceful of blonde hair as a strong wave of lavender hit her nose. Momentarily stupefied again, she tried to rip her arm away, but the girl was clearly a lot stronger than she was and was able to physically drag her out of the carriage where she was all but deposited on the grass. Quite like a child. 

“I’m not a child,” Hermione protested, rubbing her arm. She glared at her ‘savior’ and was surprised to be met with furious cold blue eyes in return. Now that she could see the person who’d (_ rudely _) manhandled her, Hermione noticed that the girl looked indeed a few years older than her. Judging from the girl’s soot covered blue uniform, the girl must’ve been a student from Beauxbaton, putting her age to be at least seventeen. 

Hermione noted with slight displeasure and envy that the girl still impeccable despite having just escaped a burning carriage and what was undoubtedly a rough ride. There wasn’t a single strand of blonde hair out of place. Meanwhile, Hermione didn’t even have to look to know her hair had puffed up to hopeless means. 

The French girl crossed her arms as she scanned Hermione once judgmentally, before scoffing and leaving to join the rest of her classmates who all looked quite well considering they just crash landed in a burning carriage a few moments ago. 

Hermione wanted to gape at the girl’s behavior. 

_ ‘Did she just ignore me? The nerve!’ _

“Hermione! There you are!” 

Hermione turned, still glaring, to see Ron and Harry running up to her. 

“Woah, what happened?” Ron asked, backing away slightly as he recognized the look on her face immediately. He was often the one on the receiving end of that look after all. “Who pissed you off?” he joked.

“It’s nothing,” Hermione huffed, determined to forget the haughty French girl. She eyed both of her friends. “You guys alright?”

They both nodded. “You?” Harry asked, just to make sure. 

“Fine,” Hermione answered curtly before turning her attention to the wreckage. “What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know but I just heard Dumbledore talking to who I presume is the Beauxbatons Headmistress-”

“The woman is mad huge!” Ron interrupted Harry. “Do you reckon she’s got giant blood in her?”

Hermione slapped the boy on the shoulder. At his questioning gaze, she scolded him. “Even if she does, it’s not in your place to ask. Besides, you can’t just call a lady huge. It’s rude, Ronald.”

The boy flinched and withdrew on himself, raising his hands in the worldwide gesture of surrender. “Sorry,” he muttered, properly chastised. 

Rolling her eyes, Hermione turned her attention back to Harry. “And?’ she prompted. 

“Well, I think I heard something about dragons,” Harry revealed unsurely. 

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. “Dragons? But that’s impossible. There shouldn’t be any dragons between here and France.”

Harry shrugged cluelessly. “I don’t know. That’s just what I think I heard.” 

“Students please!” Dumbledore’s voice sounded out over the chaos. “If you would all kindly head to the Great Hall. Madame Maxine and I will take care of things here.” 

Hermione noted the rather tall woman that stood next to Dumbledore and she had to agree in the back of her mind with Ron’s previous statement. It was quite likely that Madame Maxine had giant blood, but she had better tact than to bring it up. 

The two headmasters stood next to each other wand raised, and with a few complicated swishes and flicks, the students watched as the carriage practically fixed itself, looking as good as new again. 

Hermione looked at Ron and Harry with raised eyebrows. The boys matched her expression. 

“Well, that’s certainly an interesting start to things,” Ron commented as they headed inside the castle for the feast. 

Harry snorted. “You can say that again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're starting to deviate a little from canon, but not much. We're also mostly done with the introductory phase. Next time: the Goblet of Fire chooses the champions! People are not happy. Hermione is the unhappiest.


	4. Bouillabaisse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Fleur's perspective and how on earth do you spell bouillabaise? (definitely not like that for sure) 
> 
> Anyways, Fleur's character may seem a bit annoying at first and that's because I'm sticking a little to canon before deviating later. The girl was described as haughty so yeah. Beware of pretentiousness coming up.
> 
> Enjoy!

The journey to Hogwarts was supposed to be a quick and easy one. No one expected a dragon to attack. There weren’t supposed to even be any dragons in the area.

Fleur was in her room before the attack. She was sitting on her bed, half occupied with trying to read this book on curse breaking, and half occupied with keeping her little sister Gabrielle entertained as the younger French girl babbled away, excited about going to a foreign school.

“How big do you think the castle is?” Gabby wondered bouncing around her bed.

Fleur hummed distractedly. She was quite sure that no matter how amazing Hogwarts turned out to be, it would never compare to the beauty that was Beauxbatons and thus, wasn’t quite as invested in this new school as her little sister was. She was here for the tournament, nothing more. 

“Probably bigger than Beauxbatons,” she answered while doing her best to actually absorb in the material she was reading. She had no idea there were so many different types of dark curses - as it was a subject that was sparsely touched upon in Beauxbatons but knowing her competitors, mainly the one from Durmstrang, she thought she’d better brush up on her knowledge in the field - and it was absolutely fascinating. 

“Did you know they split their students into four Houses?” Gabby asked, unbothered with her sister’s lack of enthusiasm. Nothing could damper her mood. “Which one do you reckon you’d be in if you were a Hogwarts student?”

Fleur actually took a second to ponder this question, effectively cutting off her previous thought process about the different methods of diagnosing and treating dark inflictions on a person. She knew about the Houses of course. She’d read _ Hogwarts: A History _as soon as she found out she would be coming here for the school year.

“I’d be a Ravenclaw, I suppose,” she answered eventually, taking much pride in the carefully obtained vast pools of knowledge over the past six years. Maybe a Slytherin. She liked to think that there was more to her than just her beauty, which was the one thing everyone always focused on. No one ever talked about her academics, or how she was the top of her class in Charms, or how she was able to brew a perfect Calming Draught by her second year whilst most of her peers couldn’t even claim to do the same until their fifth year. 

But this was her chance. Once she won the Triwizard Tournament, everyone else would have to see her for what she was beyond just beauty. 

Shaking out of her thoughts, she turned to gaze fondly at her sister. “Which one would you be in?” she asked.

Gabby’s reply was instant. “Gryffindor!” she exclaimed loudly causing Fleur to chuckle at how adorable her sister was being. 

“That suits you,” Fleur replied. The bravery of a lion - yes, it suited Gabby quite well. She could see her sister donning gold and maroon robes sitting amongst her other Gryffindor friends. Despite being only eight years old, Gabby was a fiery witch, bold, and passionate, as well as occasionally troublesome. 

“Lynette would definitely be in Slytherin,” Gabby quipped brightly. Fleur cocked an eyebrow in amusement.

“And why is that?” Fleur asked grinning. She agreed that her best friend would’ve most likely been a Slytherin had she attended Hogwarts, but she still wanted to know what her sister’s thought process was.

“Because she’s a snake!” claimed Gabby confidently. 

Fleur chuckled at the indignant response. “You’re just saying that because of that one time she- ”

Suddenly there was a loud, monsterly screech. Both blondes froze and stared at each other as tendrils of fear climbed up their body seeming to numb their minds for a moment. 

“What was that?” Gabby asked apprehensively, eyes darting back and forth between the window and her older sister.

Fleur frowned, wanting to tell her sister to get as far away from the window from possible. She leaned forward, hoping to get a better view. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound harmless. “I don’t-“

The carriage suddenly lurched.

“Gabby!” Fleur cried, grabbing her sister as they were practically thrown against the wall.

“What was that?” Gabby exclaimed, terrified. 

“Gabby! Come here!” Fleur grabbed her sister. Something was wrong. Her hands reached desperately for her wand. Mere seconds after she wrapped her fingers around the familiar piece of wood, the carriage exploded. 

As her younger sister’s high pitched screams filled the room, Fleur was never more grateful for her fast reflexes - the shield charm surrounding them just in time as the part of the roof collapsed on them. 

Opening her eyes to assess the situation, Fleur was quick to notice that a fourth of her outer wall was gone, providing an exit straight into the open sky. As the wind buffeted against her shield charm, Fleur could’ve sworn she saw a scaled wing disappear into the clouds. Mon Dieu! Just what was going on?

Seeing that her room was no longer safe, Fleur rushed into the hallway with Gabby in her tight grasp. “What happened?” she demanded as her classmates rushed about in a flurry. Fleur’s heart dropped at the answer she received.

“There was an attack!”

Fleur whipped her head around to see Lynette followed by the large figure of the headmistress, Olympe Maxime. Instantly, relief flooded her system. The Headmistress would be able to take care of things. 

“Madame Delacour!” Maxime’s sharp eyes caught sight of her top pupil. “I need you and Madame Beaumont to come with me right away. You two are in charge of securing the East wing.”

Fleur’s eyes flickered down to Gabby. “Follow the rest of the students. Go to the middle of the carriage. Stay safe.” 

“You too,” Gabby replied, giving her sister a quick hug before rushing to safer ground with the rest of the students. With her little sister taken care of, Fleur took off in the opposite direction. 

“What is happening?” she asked once she caught up with Lynette and the Headmistress, which was quite difficult considering how quickly they were dropping. 

“A dragon,” Maxime muttered angrily, surprising Fleur with how furious she sounded. Fleur frowned. 

“How can it be a dragon?” she questioned out loud. She shot Lynette a look who only returned an equally confused look. “There shouldn’t be any dragons here.”

Madame Maxime only mumbled some more angry words under her breath. Fleur missed most of it except for the word….‘Dumbly-dor?’ Before Fleur could ponder on it any further, the Maxime began to bark out orders. 

“Stop the fires, clear the debris and escort any students to safety. We will be arriving at Hogwarts very soon where we can get better medical treatment, though I don’t think it will be a very smooth landing so prepare yourselves,” Maxime frowned as she rushed on ahead. “I will attend to the Abraxans. I have to make sure my babies are safe. 

Fleur and Lynette quickly got to work. Luckily there weren’t any major injuries, just a few scratches here or there. Many of the students were able to safely get themselves to safety or conjured a shield charm like Fleur had after hearing the initial screech. 

“TWO MINUTES!” Maxime’s loud voice sounded throughout the carriage. Lynette and Fleur turned to look at each other. Both knew that with the speed of their current descent, a smooth landing indeed did not seem likely. 

“We’re going to crash,” Lynette slightly panicked. 

“We are not!” Fleur protested, refusing to give up. Her sister was on this plane! If anything happened to Gabrielle, she would never forgive herself, nevermind the earful she would undoubtedly get from her mutter. 

Fleur pointed her wand to the floor of the carriage. 

“BRACE YOURSELVES FOR LANDING!” Maxime’s voice sounded once more. 

_ “Arresto Momento!” _ Fleur shouted, putting everything she had into the spell. 

_ “Protego!” _Lynette casted at the same time, shielding them from most of the harm as the impact of the carriage against the ground threw them both across the room. 

“Oof!” Fleur grunted as she hit the wall. She opened her eyes and spotted Lynette in a similar predicament. With the danger of the situation mostly past, Lynette gave her a wry grin. 

“Haven’t even gotten to Hogwarts and it’s already proving to be an interesting year,” the girl commented. “I can’t wait to see what the rest of the year has in store for us.”

Fleur scoffed in amusement gingerly getting up to her feet, grateful that nothing hurt too bad. She looked at Lynette. “We have to make sure everyone is evacuated.”

“Right behind you,” Lynette tilted her head, signaling Fleur to take the lead. 

The next few minutes could only be described as absolute chaos to Fleur. There was so much happening, and so many people rushing about. She hadn’t seen her sister since she left her but she knew the girl was smart enough to have gotten off unhurt. At least, she hoped so. She would never be able to forgive herself otherwise. 

Feeling obligated, Fleur stayed behind as most of the students left to search the remains. As she stepped over the debris, she wondered if the carriage was still salvageable. 

Her breath caught as her eyes landed on a young girl standing in the middle of the room. Before she could even register what was happening, she lunged forward and grabbed the girl by her robes, trapping both arms against a thin body. Worry and anger both flared inside of her once her mind registered the Hogwarts robes. 

_ ‘What is this little girl doing here? Doesn’t she know how dangerous it is to be in here right now?’ _

“Zis is not the time of children’s play!” she scolded, completely unimpressed by the reckless behaviour. What if the girl had gotten hurt? She could only imagine the consequences Beauxbatons would have to pay if something were to happen to a Hogwarts student if they’d accidentally gotten hurt while on Beauxbatons property. 

And on the first day of this so called activity to promote inter-school relations nonetheless. 

To her astonishment, she felt the girl fight against her grip, only infuriating her further. 

_ ‘God I hate children and their misguided notions of heroics,’ _Fleur thought grumpily as continued to drag the girl out of the carriage for her own sake too. Couldn’t the girl see that the carriage was close to collapsing and that they needed to get out of here before both of them were buried under cement? 

“I’m not a child!” the girl protested the moment Fleur unceremoniously dropped her onto safer ground. Fleur fought the urge to roll her eyes. However, when the girl turned around to face her properly, Fleur was somewhat struck by the intensity in the brown eyes that glared at her. 

Reeling in her initial impression, Fleur took a moment to appraise the girl in front of her. Judging by the girl’s appearance - bushy untameable brown hair, stern frowning countenance, hard set jaw, and defiant glaring eyes - the girl couldn’t possibly be older than fourteen, maybe fifteen at most. She recognized the stubborn glint in the girl’s eyes too. She used to have the same look when she was younger and more immature, when she thought she knew everything. She had, of course, grown out of that particular look over the years, while the young girl in front of her radiated a self-righteous defiance that was common in teenagers. 

_ ‘A troublesome child indeed,’ _ Fleur thought to herself. _ ‘One who likes to play hero.’ _

She’d also recognized the color on the girl’s robes to deduce that the girl was from the Gryffindor house. She’d read that that particular house was often home to wannabe heroes. She knew of the type. She’d seen enough of them at her own school - students who liked to rush into danger to show off the skills they didn’t have. Fleur detested these type of people the most. Fleur at least had the skills to back her up if she were to ever rush into a situation so recklessly. 

Not wanting to waste anymore of her time on this _ child _, she gave the girl one last appraisal before leaving with her nose held high in the air. She knew she was being haughty but so what? She just survived apparently what was a dragon attack, fell out of the sky in a burning carriage, and left her sister alone amidst the whole chaos to help other students. Not only that, she was here to compete in a potentially life threatening competition in a foreign environment away from the safe haven that was Beauxbatons - that she chose to do so on her own free will was irrelevant. Not to mention the fact that she was starving. To say she was stressed would be an understatement. She’d saved the girl’s life and she didn’t even get a thank you. 

Fleur only hoped that not all of Hogwarts students were like this girl before her - so disagreeable - otherwise she’d find her stay here rather unpleasant.

Fleur made her way to the castle and immediately felt big hands cover her entire shoulders. 

“‘Ou did well today,” came the familiar accent of her Headmistress voice from nearly five feet over her head. “Zank ‘ou.”

“Glad to ‘elp.” Fleur nodded absentmindedly, remembering to speak English here. Her mind was preoccupied with scanning the halls of Hogwarts for her little sister. But as she looked around, she realized that, _ goodness _Hogwarts was old. Fleur found herself already missing the nice, warm, sunny halls of Beauxbatons as she stared at the worn out, stone cold walls and floors. 

Fighting back a shiver, Fleur stepped forward to join the rest of the Beauxbatons filing into what she assumed was the Great Hall. 

“Enjoy ze feast,” Maxime told her. “Zanks to you and Madame Beaumont, no one was seriously ‘urt. ‘Ou may relax and enjoy ze festivities tonight.”

“I intend to. Zank ‘ou headmistress.” Fleur hesitated before asking, “Why was zere a dragon in the sky?”

Madam Maxime’s face immediately went rigid and Fleur felt her headmistress tense behind her back. 

“Zat is a _ very good _ question, one I must bring up with Dumbly-dor,” the French Headmistress bit out and Fleur could feel the anger radiating off the woman. She gulped silently. One did _ not _ anger their esteemed Headmistress. 

“Right,” Fleur stepped out from under Maxime’s hold feeling like she should before headmistress’s ire worsened later. “I will go on a’ead.” 

She quickly made her way into the Great Hall, still trying to decipher Madame Maxime’s words, and scanned the hundreds of students inside. Much to her relief, she immediately spotted her little sister sitting amongst other Beauxbatons students at the table with all the blue robed Hogwarts students. 

Fleur quirked an eyebrow as she approached the Beauxbatons group. _ ‘Looks like I’ll get to experience being a Ravenclaw after all.’ _

“Are ‘ou injured?” she immediately asked as she stepped up behind her sister. She ignored all the stares she was undoubtedly getting from all over the Great Hall - _ stupid thrall - _ and focused on Gabrielle. 

“I’m fine!” Gabrielle beamed before pulling her sister down into the seat next to hers. “Now come sit. My new friend ‘ere was just telling me about ze Boy Oo Lived!” she babbled excitedly. 

Fleur took a seat and smiled at the new friend Gabrielle managed to make in the five minutes she’d been inside. _ ‘Typical,’ _Fleur grinned to herself. Her sister was ever charming as always. 

“‘Ello, my name is Fleur,” she introduced herself, leaning forward to kiss the girl on both cheeks. The girl stared at her for a second, seeming to go into a daze before quickly shaking herself out of it. 

“I’m Cho Chang! Fifth year. It’s nice to meet you,” the Ravenclaw grinned. “Your sister is adorable,” she beamed. 

Fleur smiled wryly as Gabrielle practically preened at the compliment. “I know,” Fleur answered, not wanting to inflate her younger sister’s ego any further. She eyed her sister out of the corner of her eyes and saw Gabby smiling innocently at her. She scoffed inwardly. 

_ ‘Gryffindor my ass. She would’ve done very well in Slytherin. Look at her charming people into doing what she wants with just her smile.’ _

“So!” Gabby interrupted excitedly. “Continue what ‘ou were saying!” she urged. “I want to ‘ear more about ze boy!”

Fleur thought about chiding her for jumping into gossip so quickly but she knew better than to stop Gabrielle when the girl became invested in something. 

Cho grinned bashfully but leaned forward to appease the eight year old. “Well, Harry’s in his fourth year now. Rumor has it that he faced You-Know-Who in hist first year, a basilisk in his second year, and just last year there was a prisoner from Azkaban that was after him.”

“But ‘e beat zem all?” the little girl asked eagerly, practically half out of her seat. “‘E must be very good at magic!” 

Cho laughed as Fleur just let her sister be. She was famished and could care less about Gabby’s table manners at the moment, no matter how atrocious they may be for a member of the Delacour family. 

“Yes, he is. He learned to perform a fully corporeal patronus last year,” Cho answered kindly. Fleur quirked an eyebrow at that tidbit of information while silently piling up food on her plate. A patronus was _ very _advanced magic. She’d only just managed it last year. It seemed Harry Potter was as good a wizard as everyone else made him out to be. 

“He has two really good friends who help him,” Cho continued to indulge the young French girl’s interest in The Boy Who Lived. “Ron and Hermione. They’re both fourth years as well and are Gryffindors too.”

Gabrielle’s eyes gleamed as she took in all the information. Fleur shook her head after seeing the enamored look on her sister’s face - if only Gabrielle would give the same attention to her studies. 

“What are zey like?” asked Gabby.

Cho took a second to think. “Well, Ron is Harry’s best mate. He’s a Weasley, so you’ll be able to recognize him easily from his red hair and freckles. He’s decent at chess, I heard, but quite poor in class. He’s quite funny, which makes sense given who his brothers are - Fred and George. Twins. You’ll know of them soon, I promise. They’re always up to something. - Otherwise, I don’t know too much about him.”

“And ‘Ermione?” Gabby insisted. 

Cho grinned conspiratorially in response and leaned in as if about to tell a secret. Gabby copied the motion excitedly. Fleur couldn’t help but be curious too. She found herself unconsciously leaning in despite how intently she kept her eyes on her plate of ratatouille, staring at the pasta dish as if it were the most interesting thing in the world and not the conversation that was happening next to her. 

“Hermione is technically be a Gryffindor,” Cho mock whispered as she looked around, “but _we _all think she should’ve been in Ravenclaw.”

Around them, several Ravenclaws who’d been listening in to the conversation nodded their heads in agreement. Fleur raised an eyebrow at the reaction. 

_ ‘The girl must be quite smart for everyone here to acknowledge it,’ _Fleur thought. 

“Why?” Gabby asked with big curious eyes. 

“Well,” Cho grinned. “They call her the smartest witch of her age. She’s the top of her classes, Professor McGonagall’s favorite student, and even gives Snape a hard time since she’s rarely ever wrong in class. He hates it obviously since his whole life goal is to make any House that isn’t Slytherin look stupid” - several Ravenclaws around them rolled their eyes at this, also seemingly in agreement - “so he makes fun of her for being an insufferable know-it-all instead, which she might’ve been true when she was younger but she’s rounded out since her first year. Anyways, Ravenclaw would’ve been _ happy _ to have her. They say she brewed a perfect Polyjuice potion in her second year here and she’s in the library reading _ all _the time. I reckon she’s as good as any sixth or seventh year in magic.”

“Woahhhhh,” Gabby stared wide-eyed in wonder at the description. “Which one is she?” Gabby bounced excitedly in her seat. “Point ‘er out to me!” 

Cho turned around and scanned the Gryffindor table before pointing to a trio. “Ah, there they are.” She tilted her head at the middle of the Gryffindor table. 

Fleur couldn’t help but glance over, feeling curiosity take over. After all, it was not everyday she got to see The Boy Who Lived. And the girl who was dubbed ‘the smartest witch of her age’ had also caught her attention. 

“The one with the unruly black hair - that’s Harry,” Cho pointed out. Fleur couldn’t help but feel, as soon as her eyes laid upon him, that “The Chosen One” was just a young boy. 

_ ‘He is still a child,’ _ Fleur found herself thinking. _ ‘A child that has suffered a lot and will no doubt suffer more.’ _

“The redhead is Ron,” Cho continued. Since Fleur could only see the back of his head, she didn’t have much to say about this Ron Weasley. 

“And finally, the girl with the book open sitting next to Harry is Hermione,” Cho finished. 

Fleur shifted her vision once more and felt physically struck upon seat as her eyes landed on a familiar figure. 

_ ‘It’s the girl from the carriage,’ _ Fleur realized as she felt something drop to the bottom of her stomach. Was that guilt? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she’d terribly misjudged the girl from earlier. 

_ ‘So she is not as helpless as she looks…’ _

* * *

“I can _ not _ believe you’re reading in the middle of a feast,” Ron stated exasperatedly as he stared at the unbelievable witch in front of him who was currently ignoring the magnificent feast spread before them in favor of a book. 

“Oh hush and eat your bouillabaisse,” countered Hermione not even glancing up from her reading. 

Ron scrunched up his face into an utter look of confusion. “Bless you,” he grimaced. “What?”

Hermione flickered her eyes up toward the redhead before nodding at the fish stew in the middle of the table. “ Bouillabaisse,” she repeated, now the exasperated one out of the two. “Honestly Ron. It’s a French dish. It’s very good.”

“I’ll take your word for it then,” Ron stated, staring at the dish as if it were the last thing he wanted to eat. He would stick to his potatoes and roast beef for now. “What are you even reading?” he asked. 

“Professor Snape’s got me thinking-”

“That can’t be good,” Ron remarked immediately. Harry bit back a laugh as Hermione shot the redhead a stern look that would’ve made their Head of House proud. 

“_As _I was saying,” Hermione eyed Ron and when the boy made no indication of interrupting this time, she continued. “My lessons with Professor Snape got me thinking. What _ is _magic? _ How _ does it work exactly? _ Why _does it work? What constitutes a spell? Like why does waving your wand in this particular pattern and saying these particular incantations cause, let’s say, your wand to light up? And seeing how non-verbal and wandless magic are both possible, is intention the only thing you need? Then why the incantations and the wand work? How do you even choose the incantations and wand movements? Is it just experimentation? Is magic rooted only in Latin incantations? What about other languages, like per say, French?”

There was a long pause as Hermione finished her rant. The two boys exchanged overwhelmed glances before looking back to their friend. 

“Blimey, Hermione,” was all Ron could offer. 

“Those are, um, some big questions,” said Harry, just slightly more graceful than Ron. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

Hermione sighed before smiling wryly at the two of them. She really should’ve expected this reaction from them. They tuned out whenever she talked about the material they’d learned _ in _class, forget anything beyond the curriculum. They both gave her sheepish smiles and she couldn’t help but return them kindly. She knew they only meant the best. 

“Oh never mind,” she rolled her eyes playfully and both boys sighed in relief, glad they wouldn’t be subjected to more talk on the foundations of magic. 

“Excusez-moi,” a light voice sounded from behind Ron. All three heads turned to look at their newcomer with differing reactions from each of them. Ron’s face immediately turned purple as he gaped at the girl standing in front of him. Harry stared at the French Beauxbatons student with a polite, curious look. Meanwhile, Hermione immediately took on a weary facade as she eyed the French girl, wondering what it was she wanted. She recognized the girl instantly of course as the girl who called her a child. 

“Are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?” Fleur inquired, pointing at the fish stew. Fleur wanted to hit herself for feeling so self conscious in front of the trio. Or better yet, she wanted to hit Gabrielle as this was all her idea. 

She made sure to be careful not to make eye contact with the girl who she dragged off the carriage like a cat. However, she couldn’t help but notice the book the girl was reading. Its subject wasn’t one she could deduce easily with just a mere glance and she didn’t recognize it. But after hearing what that Ravenclaw had said, she didn’t doubt that it dealt with advanced magic. 

Harry looked at both of friends, confused that they were both unresponsive - Ron seemed to have lost his wits and was just openly staring at the girl, while Hermione, much to Harry’s surprise, was sporting a rather unfriendly face. He politely pushed the dish forward towards the girl. 

“We’re done with it. You can have it,” Harry nodded at the dish. 

Fleur smiled gratefully, before thanking them and leaving, taking the dish with her back to the Ravenclaw table. She was glad that Harry was so tactful and that she was allowed a somewhat graceful exit. As she turned around, she immediately glared at Gabby who grinned at her, waving her back to the table enthusiastically. 

“She’s a Veela!” Ron exclaimed as soon as the girl left. 

“No she’s not!” Hermione denied, feeling ire towards the girl. She looked disdainfully at Ron. “You got a little drool, you know, just right there.” She pointed to her chin mockingly. Ron scoffed, but still wiped his chin just in case.

“She definitely is!” he insisted, looking like he’d bet his life on it, or on the girl for that matter. 

“Whatever,” Hermione mumbled before returning to her book. However, her mind was still reeling at seeing the girl again making it difficult to concentrate, much to the annoyance of the bookworm. 

_ ‘What did she want? Surely there was some bouillabaisse at her own table. Did she have to come all the over to ours?’ _

“You believe me, mate right?” Ron asked nudging Harry who only shrugged. To Harry's memory, he’d only seen Veelas once at the Quidditch World Cup and they didn’t look quite as normal as the French girl did. 

“Anyway, what was that about?” Harry asked, addressing Hermione. 

“What was what about?” she retorted. 

“Just now, when the girl came by. Ron’s reaction, I can understand,” Harry stated, grinning a little. “Yours, not so much.”

“It’s nothing,” Hermione insisted stubbornly, keeping her eyes on her book. “I just ran into her earlier. When their carriage crashed.”

Harry nodded. “Did anything happen?” he pressed. Hermione looked miffed. Something must’ve happened. 

“Nothing much,” Hermione huffed. “She just dragged me out and called me a child when I was just trying to help.” She was a little annoyed but she was _over _it, really. She wasn’t the type to let these things drag her down. Though it irked her a little to be called a child, she wasn’t going to let a stranger’s words hold that much influence over her. 

“Oh,” Harry blinked. He understood the sentiment as he’d been called 'a child' or 'too young' ever since he’d stepped into Hogwarts. Knowing how Hermione felt, and seeing that it wasn’t that big of a deal, he dropped it. Instead, he turned to Ron and tried to engage him in a conversation about Quidditch but the boy was too busy staring at Fleur with a lovesick expression. 

Finding Ron a lost cause as well, Harry resorted to picking at his lamb chops when George and Fred slid in suddenly next to them. 

“Are you all excited?” George asked. Or maybe it was Fred. Harry was never sure. 

“For what?” Ron asked. It seemed he’d finally stopped staring at the blonde French girl. 

“For the Triwizard Tournament of course!” Fred answered before leaning in. “We’ve been trying for weeks to get McGonagall and other professors to fess up how they were going to choose the champions, but we got absolutely nothing.”

“McG was incredibly tight lipped as usual,” George quipped, shaking his head. 

“It doesn’t matter though because we’re going to enter our names either way,” said Fred. “The age rule is stupid.”

“Yes well, I don’t think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance,” Hermione spoke up, looking up from her book. 

Fred and George both grinned at her. 

“Oh really?” said Fred. 

“I reckon you’d give anyone a good run for their money,” George insisted. 

“I’d bet on you,” Fred added amicably. 

“Potter here too,” George stated. 

“Thank you,” said Harry abashedly. “But I’d rather have an uneventful year where something doesn’t try to kill me.”

“Oy!” Ron protested. “What about me? I’m your brother. You don’t think I can be champion for Hogwarts?”

Both twins looked each other briefly before turning to look at their brother mischievously. 

“Not a chance, Ronnikins,” they both teased in unison. 

“Unbelievable,” Ron huffed, crossing his arms. 

“Sorry brother, but if a Weasley’s representing the school, it’s going to be me,” Fred stated proudly. 

“Or me,” George rebutted. “I am the better looking one after all.”

Before long, the feast was over and Dumbledore stood up to make some announcements. The murmurs in the Great Hall died down instantly as everyone anticipated what tonight’s announcements were going to be about. 

“First,” Dumbledore’s voice boomed. “Let me welcome, once again, the visiting schools of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang!” There was some excited applause. "I know it was a rather _bumpy_ ride for some of you," he grinned. Some of the students in the hall laughed. The Beauxbatons did not. At the teacher's table, McGonagall looked exasperated as ever whenever Dumbledore cracked jokes. 

“And now, the moment you all have been waiting for!” He dimmed the lights around the room, creating an eerie look. 

In a dramatic move, Dumbledore revealed the Goblet of Fire. 

“From this moment on, the Triwizard Tournament has officially begun!”

* * *

_ “The boy...bring me the boy. I need the boy.” _

_ “Of course. And the girl?” _

_ “If the girl is worthy...We might be able to find a use for her before we kill her.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Four names come out of the goblet. Viktor's, Fleur's, Harry's, and... Hermione's?


	5. The Four Champions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all these new fics for fleurmione week inspired me to start writing again

Hermione woke up bright and early feeling fully rested for the first time in a while. Due to the influx of the visiting students at Hogwarts, the professors were busy with their preparations and thus had temporarily put their private lessons with Hermione on hold until the foreign students were settled in. The brief respite gave Hermione plenty of time to delve into more personal research about magical theory and elves. 

Getting out of bed, Hermione quickly grabbed her wand and charmed the giant book she was reading last night to hover midair in front of her and open to the page she’d bookmarked. She then quickly got dressed, brushed her teeth, and prepared for the day, all while barely taking her eyes off the book. She’d have to find a way to thank Professor Flitwick for teaching her this charm later. 

“Merlin’s sake, Hermione! Do you ever take a break?” a sleepy voice interrupted. 

“Good morning Ginny,” Hermione replied without missing a beat, giving the youngest Weasley only the briefest of smiles before returning back to the words in front of her - her hands still busy with fixing her tie seemingly with a mind of their own. 

“It’s like seven thirty in the morning. You just woke up and you’re already reading about”- Ginny squinted at the faded title on the book cover - “_ Magical Creatures: House Elves, Veelas, Dragons, Goblins, and Everything In Between. _ Are you ever not reading?” she complained incredulously. 

Hermione responded with a proud smile. “Not if I can help it.” 

“I’ll take that as a no then,” Ginny scowled. She was the type of person who put off anything academic until the more reasonable hours in a day. Hermione’s eagerness to learn made her want to wrinkle her nose in uncomprehension. “It’s still a wonder the Hat didn’t put you in Ravenclaw.”

“It tried,” Hermione replied with a shrug, hands finally free. The Sorting Hat had spent nearly four minutes debating which House she should’ve been placed in. Though Hermione didn’t think it made it the wrong choice - she took great pride in being a Gryffindor, thank you very much - she sometimes wondered what life would’ve been like if she _ had _been placed in Ravenclaw, away from Ron and Harry. She never dwelled on it too long though, preferring more realistic routes of thought as opposed to the purely hypothetical. 

She grabbed her book and tucked it under one arm. The other ran through her bushy curls, untangling any knots with her hand. She looked at Ginny, who looked like she was still trying to wake up. “I’ll see you downstairs?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ginny waved her off, mumbling through half lidded eyes. 

Hermione walked into the Great Hall and was surprised to find a lot more students awake than usual at this early hour. Then she remembered that today was the last day for students to put their names into the Goblet of Fire and everything made sense. 

Though Hermione didn’t really keep a track of who was entering, she’d still heard from Ron and Harry how none of the Beauxbatons or Durmstrang students had submitted their names yet and deduced that they were waiting until the last day to do so. For the dramatics, Hermione supposed, which the Wizarding world was quite fond of. 

She settled down in her usual spot and plopped her book gently down in front of her. She was engrossed within seconds. Ginny joined her twenty minutes later followed by the boys an hour later. 

“Good morning,” they both greeted her and Ginny as they approached. 

Hermione nodded back at them in greeting as the boys quickly dug into their food. Hermione averted her eyes right before she could see Ron shove an entire sausage down his throat. 

“Gross, I don’t need to see that first thing in the morning,” Ginny complained, scooting her own plate away. 

Ron shot a face at his sister, and continued stuffing his mouth just to spite her. 

“Did anyone enter their names this morning?” Harry asked. 

Ginny shook her head. “A few, but no one from the other schools.” 

Hermione looked up from her book. “Do we know who’s entering from Gryffindor?”

“I heard Angelina put her name in yesterday,” Ginny responded. “She’d make a good Champion for Hogwarts.”

“I agree. As long as it’s not a Slytherin Champion. I mean, can you imagine?” said Ron. 

“Cedric also put his name in,” said Ginny. 

“Who?” Ron asked. 

“Diggory,” said Harry. “He would make a good champion.”

“That idiot, Hogwarts Champion?” 

“You just don’t like him because he beat Gryffindor in Quidditch last year. I heard he’s at the top of his classes -- _ and _he’s a prefect,” said Hermione. “Still I hope Angelina gets chosen.” 

“Me too! We’ll find out tonight, I guess,” said Ginny. 

There was a sudden cheer at the entrance of the hall as Fred, George and Lee Jordan came hurrying in triumphantly. 

“We’ve done it!” Fred grinned, holding up a vial of liquid. 

“What?” said Ron. 

“The Aging Potion, dung brains,” said George. “Just a few drops, and we’ll be a couple of months older.” 

“It’s not going to work,” sang Hermione. 

The twins flanked Hermione on either side. “Oh yeah? And why not, Miss-Know-It-All?”

Hermione smirked. Maybe in the past, she would’ve been hurt by the name calling, but now she wore the title with pride. “Well, a genius like Dumbledore wouldn’t possibly be fooled by something so dim-witted as an aging potion.”

“Ah, but that’s why it’s so genius!” laughed Fred. “Because it’s so dim-witted!” 

“Bottoms up!” 

The twins downed the potions and hopped across the ageline. Everyone held their breaths. When nothing happened, they cheered, the rest of the room following along. 

Just as they were about to put their names in, flames shot out wildly from the goblet. There was a loud sizzling sound and the twins were hurled out of the circle by an unseen force, landing in a heap on the ground, donning long white beards. 

“Oh my,” said Harry, grinning. The entire room erupted into laughter as the twins tackled each other. They were quickly escorted out of the room to the infirmary. 

“I wonder what I would look like with a beard,” Ron rubbed his chin contemplatively. “Do you reckon I could pull it off.” 

“Maybe,” Harry shrugged. 

“I told them it wouldn’t work,” said Hermione somewhat smugly. “In order to bypass such an advanced spell, one would have to-”

“Hey Hermione,” Harry interrupted. “It’s your friend.” 

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. She turned to see what he was talking about. The students from Beauxbatons were coming through the entrance, dressed head to toe in blue silks. In the front leading them all was none other than the girl who’d called her a child. 

“She’s not my friend,” Hermione muttered. Despite the small flick of irritation at the reminder, she was unable to tear her gaze away. 

The small crowd gathered around the goblet of fire spread out before the French witch, making way as she walked up to the goblet confidently and dropped her name in. The goblet of fire turned red and sparks flew out as the flames engulfed the parchment. Her name had been accepted. 

Fleur turned, her eyes sweeping across the Hall to land on the Gryffindor girl from a week ago. Hermione stared back unabashedly. For some reason, it made Fleur want to stand even straighter under the younger girl’s scrutiny. 

Fleur looked down to the girl’s lap, where a rather large tome laid open. She felt her lips curl into a small smile and watched as Hermione’s eyebrow raised at the slight action. 

It seemed every time Fleur happened upon Hermione, which was only a handful of times this past week, the girl had her nose in a different book, each larger than the last. Fleur was starting to see how the girl got her reputation among the Ravenclaw students, and it intrigued her for reasons she couldn’t comprehend. 

Was it because Fleur saw a bit of herself in Hermione? So young and so much to prove? 

It wasn’t until Fleur felt Madame Maxime’s large hands on her shoulders, steering her forward, did she look away, a bit startled to have been caught staring. 

“Did you see that?” gasped Ron. “She was looking this way! She was looking at me!”  
  


Harry snorted. “Sure, mate. Whatever you say.”

Neither boy noticed Hermione’s eyes trailing after Fleur’s disappearing figure. 

* * *

That night at the feast, there was an anxious mood all around. For once, the abundance of food was not enough to keep the students occupied. Even the professors seemed eager to get on with the program. Hermione too, found herself buzzing with so much anticipation that she was only able to read a couple of pages from her book before she put it away altogether.

It seemed like forever when Dumbledore finally took to the stage and an immediate hush fell over the Hall. 

“Finally,” said Ginny. “Gosh, I hope Johnson gets it! If anyone deserves it, it’s her.”

“Oh I hope so,” gushed Hermione. They all sat at the edge of their seats, eager for the announcements of the three champions. 

“Now that our bellies are happy and full,” said Dumbledore, “let us proceed to the main event of the night shall we?” With a flick of his sleeve, the lights dimmed, casting the Great Hall in a mysterious glow. He approached the goblet of fire with his wand pointed out. 

“Any second now,” Ginny whispered. 

The flames inside the goblet suddenly turned red and with a burst of sparks, a piece of charred parchment shot out. Dumbledore snatched it out of the air. 

“The champion for Durmstrang,” he announced in a strong, clear voice, “is Viktor Krum.”

The whole hall erupted into applause. 

“Well no surprise there!” said Ron, clapping vigorously. He craned his neck to get a better view of the Bulgarian Seeker as he approached Dumbledore and made his way to the champion’s room. 

Silence fell upon the hall again as the flames of the goblet turned red once more. Another name shot out. 

“The champion for Beauxbatons,” said Dumbledore, peering at the name through his spectacles, “is Fleur Delacour!”

Hermione felt Harry elbow her in the ribs. “Look! It’s her, Hermione!” 

Hermione really wished he would just drop it, but he seemed intent on teasing her every opportunity he got about the French witch. She clapped along politely as Ron drooled all over himself. For some reason it bothered her slightly that the champion of Beauxbatons seemed to be under the impression that she was just a child. 

Why did it even matter? 

When Fleur disappeared into the side chamber, the silence fell again. This time, the anticipation was so thick in the air, Hermione could almost feel it buzzing under her skin. She forced her thoughts away from the haughty French blonde and leaned forward as much as she could without falling off her chair to get a better view of the goblet. The Hogwarts champion was next. 

Like the last two times, the goblet of fire burned red, and a name shot out. 

_ ‘Please be Angelina Johnson,’ _Hermione thought. 

“The Hogwarts Champion is-” There was a long pause of silence as Dumbledore stared at the name written on the parchment and everyone else stared at Dumbledore. He looked up, clearing his throat. Hermione felt everyone inch closer off the edge of their seats. Who was it? Who was Hogwarts’ champion?

Dumbledore opened his lips. 

_ “Hermione Granger.” _

* * *

  
  


Hermione stilled as every head in the room turned towards her. 

This could not be happening. This could not _ possibly _ be happening. 

Hermione stared at Dumbledore desperately hoping she’d somehow misheard. But no. The evidence was hard to ignore. _ Everyone _ was looking at her. 

Quiet whispers filled the hall. All Hermione heard was a muted buzzing in her ears. She turned towards the boys who just stared at her blankly. 

“There has to be a mistake,” she said hastily. “I never put my name in. You know I’d never.”

Ron and Harry blinked at her. The rest of the Gryffindor table stared with open mouths. 

“Hermione Granger!” Dumbledore called again. “Come forward. To the front now, please.”

Helpless, Hermione stood up shakily, her body moving on autopilot as she maneuvered her way to the front. Her mind was both blank and busy all at once. 

The walk seemed to go on forever. She didn’t remember the Great Hall being this long before. People craned their necks to catch a glimpse of her, confusion evident on their faces. 

Hermione gazed into Dumbledore’s eyes as she approached, hoping to convey somehow that this had all been some sort of mistake. There was no logical explanation for her name to come out of the goblet. This shouldn’t be possible. He stared back, his expression stonier than she’d ever seen. 

“Through the door then,” he said calmly. Hermione continued on, each step more stilted than the last. She walked by the professors’ table, catching McGonagall’s gaze on the way past. The Transfigurations professor had gone pale as a sheet. 

_ ‘Help.’ _Hermione’s eyes tried to say as she finally entered the champion’s room. 

Victor Krum and Fleur Delacour stood by the fireplace. They turned at the sound of her entrance, their faces lighting with surprise at her presence.

“What is it?” Fleur asked, her eyes flitting curiously over the young Gryffindor. “Do zey want us back in ze Hall?”

Hermione didn’t know how to answer that question. For someone who was used to knowing all the answers, she felt like someone had just erased all the books ever published from existence. She stood there, staring blankly at the two older champions, who both stared back with increasing concern as each second passed by.

“Is everyzing alright?” Fleur asked, her face furrowing in worry.

No, Hermione wanted to say. Everything was perfectly _ not _ alright. Not even a little bit. 

“Vould you like to sit down?” Viktor asked, his voice gruff and his accent thick. “You look a little pale.”

Standing in front of the two _real _champions, Hermione couldn't help but feel inadequate. 

The doors to the room opened again and Hermione turned around to find Harry walking in. 

“Oh thank Merlin,” she cried, running to greet him. Relief flowed through her veins. “Please tell me you’re here to say they’ve made a mistake.”

Harry stared at her. 

“Harry?” Hermione felt her heart drop. She shook him slightly, but he was lost in a daze. 

The doors opened again and Ludo Bagman scurried in, a wide smile on his face. 

“Extraordinary!” Bagman cried, placing a hand on Harry and Hermione’s shoulder. “Very extraordinary indeed!” 

“What is going on?” Fleur asked, eyeing the two youngest in the room. “Where is ze Hogwarts champion?”

Hermione wondered the same thing. What _ was _going on? She couldn’t be Hogwarts’ champion. She hadn’t even taken her OWLs yet for crying out loud. There was no way the goblet could’ve chosen her to represent the whole school. There were hundreds of people way more qualified than her. This had to be some sort of sick joke. 

“Lady and gentleman,” Bagman grinned at the two older students, pushing the two fourth year students forward. “May I introduce you to your competitors for the Triwizard cup!”

Hermione whirled around at Harry. “What?! Your name came out of the goblet too?”

“I didn’t put my name in. I swear!” said a rather distressed Harry. 

“Oh Harry.” She believed him. She grabbed his hands for support. What were they going to do? A part of her wasn’t even surprised Harry’s name had come out of the goblet. He was always getting into trouble without asking for it. But her name coming out too? 

Victor Krum scowled, his face darkening as Fleur flipped her hair over her shoulder and grinned. 

“Oh, very funny, Meester Bagman,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “But please, I am not in ze mood for jokes.” 

“Oh this is no joke, Miss Delacour,” said Bagman. “Their names came out of the goblet of fire. Hermin here is Hogwarts champion. And Harry, well Harry was chosen as the _ fourth _ champion. Can you believe it? Amazing, isn't it?”

“Hermione,” Hermione muttered under her breath. “My name’s _ Hermione.” _

Bagman grinned down at her. “Yes, yes. Of course. My mis-”

“Zair ‘as to be some sort of mistake,” Fleur frowned, and for once, Hermione found herself nodding along with the French witch. “Zey cannot compete. Zey are too young.”

The door burst open and a procession of people entered: Headmaster Dumbledore, Mr. Crouch, Headmaster Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape - all of whom looked rather grim. 

“Madame Maxime!” said Fleur, rushing straight to her headmistress. “Zey are saying zat zeese little children are competing also!”

A rush of indignance washed over Hermione. So much for that moment of unity. She straightened up, feeling Harry do the same next to her. Who was Fleur to call them _ little children? _Hermione was fifteen! Only two years younger than her. 

Madame Maxime leveled her gaze cooly at the old Hogwarts Master, dwarfing him with her overwhelming height. “What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?” 

“Yes, I would like an explanation myself,” Karkaroff butted in, thick eyebrows furrowed with disapproval. “_ Two _Hogwarts champions? Even if they are underage, this still gives Hogwarts an unfair advantage!”

“_ C’est impossible, _” said Madame Maxime. “ ‘Ogwarts cannot ‘ave two champions. Zis is most injust. ‘ow did zey even get across the ageline? I ‘ad zought zat only zose over seventeen could compete?” 

“Your ageline must’ve been faulty,” Karkaroff said with a nasty look.

“Watch who you’re insulting here, Karkaroff,” Snape’s eyes flashed dangerously. 

“There is a chance I could’ve made a mistake,” Dumbledore said humbly. He stroked his beard in thought. 

“Oh please, Albus,” said McGonagall. “We all know there is no way you could’ve made a mistake.” 

Dumbledore turned to face Hermione. “Did you put your name in the goblet,” he asked calmly. 

“No.” Hermione shook her head weakly, feeling an overwhelming sense of helplessness. The last thing she wanted was to compete in this bloody tournament. 

Dumbledore then turned to Harry. “And did you put your name in the goblet?”

“No,” said Harry. Hermione wondered how he could remain so calm when she was so close to falling apart. 

“Did you ask an upperclassman to put your names in?” Dumbledore asked. 

“No!” Hermione and Harry said at the same time. 

“Ah, but of course, zey are lying!” said Madame Maxime. “Zey cannot be allowed to compete."

Bagman rubbed his chin. “Well technically, the age restriction was only added this year…”

“They must’ve somehow bypassed your ageline, Albus,” said Karkaroff unhappily. 

McGonagall shook her head. “The magical knowledge required to bypass this sort of spell is well beyond the capabilities of a seventh year student, let alone two fourth year students.”

“Well,” Snape sneered. “_ Most _ fourth year students.” He looked at Hermione. 

Hermione gaped as everyone turned to look at her for the second time that day.

“I doubt Potter was the one who figured it out,” Snape continued, “given his lamentable academic performance in the classroom.” 

“I didn’t do it!” Hermione protested hotly, flushing from all the attention. “It would require extremely advanced magic to trick the ageline. There’s no way I could’ve done it!”

McGonagall frowned. “Normally, I would agree with you, Miss Granger, but Professor Snape does have a point.” She turned to address the other adults in the room. “Miss Granger here is one of the brightest students currently at Hogwarts. Do not be fooled by her looks. Her talents go far beyond her age.”

“What was that silly little title again?” Snape asked. “The brightest witch of her age?” 

Fleur felt her eyebrows rise at the revelation. So even the professors here acknowledged the girl's title. 

“Still,” McGonagall said skeptically. “To bypass the ageline is no easy feat.” 

The foreign students, headmasters, and ministry officials all turned towards the young Gryffindor with interest.

Hermione gaped at her Transfigurations professor. She didn’t know whether to be overjoyed at the compliment or upset that they didn’t believe her. It wasn’t often one got a compliment out of McGonagall let alone McGonagall _ and _Snape.

Hermione was used to being _ under _ estimated, not _ over _estimated. 

“Hermione didn’t do it,” Harry said firmly, stepping forward almost protectively. 

Hermione could’ve kissed him right then and there. But unfortunately, his words held no weight. 

“Well of course, ‘e would defend ‘er,” said Fleur. Her eyes flashed angrily with an unreadable emotion. Hermione scowled at her, wondering what her problem was. Did either of them look like they wanted to compete?

“Miss Granger-” Dumbledore began to say. 

“Professor,” Hermione said pleadingly, close to tears. “I didn’t do it. You have to believe me. I wouldn’t even begin to know how to go about it. I’d have to know the type of spell you used, the conditions etched into the runes, which runes you used, the number of layers in the magic, the makeup of the incantations - if there even were any incantations. All of which I have absolutely no way of knowing unless I was present for the spellcasting. Then even after all that, I’d still have to find the counter runes, unravel the layers one by one, cast the-”

“That’s...quite enough dear,” said Dumbledore. 

Hermione stopped. Everyone was staring at her with a wide-eyed sort of expression. 

Oh no. She’d made it worse. Now, they were all even more convinced she’d done it. Even Harry was staring at her with surprise, though that wasn’t really anything new. He always looked like that whenever she rambled about something interesting she’d learned while doing a bit of light reading. 

Hermione did notice however, that Fleur Delacour was staring most intensely at her. Like she couldn’t believe she’d been shown up by this _ little child. _

“I didn’t put my name in the goblet,” Hermione enunciated slowly, feeling her frustration come to surface. She was so distressed, she could feel her hair poofing up and shooting sparks of magic. “I didn't do it and neither did Harry. If you must, give us some veritaserum and we’ll prove it.”

Dumbledore shook his head lightly. “There is no need to resort to such drastic measures Miss Granger, especially on students. Thank you for the thought though.” He turned to the other adults. “It would seem that they are telling the truth.” 

“Zis is ridiculous!” cried Madame Maxime. “I demand a redraw.”

“I agree,” said Karkaroff. “Hogwarts cannot have two champions.”

Bagman shook his head. “The goblet doesn’t work like that. It won’t reignite until the start of the next tournament. I’m afraid that the contract with the goblet is binding. Once a name comes out of it, the wizard or witch must compete or there will be dire consequences. There is no way out of it. The Triwizard Tournament must go on. The four of them must compete.”

Hermione felt her heart drop to her stomach. There was really no way out. She tightened her grip on Harry’s hand and felt him do the same. 

“How are there even four champions?” McGonagall asked. 

“You mean you don’t see?” a new voice growled. They all turned to see Mad Eye Moody limping in. “I may be the one with a wonky eye,” - his fake eye whizzed around the room as if to emphasize his point - “but you’re blind if you don’t see what’s at play here.”

“And what’s that?” Karkaroff asked disdainfully. 

“That a very powerful wizard or witch had cast a very powerful Confundus Charm on a very powerful ancient magical object-”

“And made it think there were four schools instead of three,” Hermione realized with a rush. “Then they entered Harry’s name under the fourth school, so that he had to become a champion!”

Moody grinned at the young girl. “Very good.”

Hermione flushed. Then frowned. “I get Harry’s name,” she cast a quick look at him. “No offense Harry, but you're always getting into these type of situations.”

He gave her a scandalized look and Hermione quickly went on to add, "I know it's not your fault. But you can't deny it happens. But,” she paused. “That person must’ve put in my name as well.” She frowned, her voice growing quiet. “Why would anyone want _ me _ in the Tournament?” 

She looked up. From the look on everyone’s faces, they were all asking the same question. 

“Well,” said Moody, “that’s the mystery, isn’t it?”

“There has to be another way,” Hermione pleaded. “A loophole. Something!” She was not ready to risk her life in a dangerous wizarding tournament. 

Dumbledore placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m afraid there is nothing else we can do, child. You and Harry must compete.”

Hermione blinked, feeling the tears rush to her eyes. Water glistened in her vision. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling her chest shudder slightly. Fine. If there truly was no way out of this stupid tournament, then Hermione was just going to have to accept that. 

She opened her eyes, her face hardening with resolve. If Harry and her were being forced to compete in a life endangering competition against their will, then Hermione was going to do her bloody best to make sure they both got out of it alive. 


End file.
